


A Rose Blooms in Baker Street

by tiaoconnell



Series: A Rose Blooms in Baker Street [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Big Brother Mycroft, Big Brother Sherlock, Discipline, Family, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2018-01-07 00:29:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 42
Words: 198,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiaoconnell/pseuds/tiaoconnell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After vanishing without a trace eighteen months earlier, the younger sister of Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes reappears in Britain and is determined to run her life her way, regardless of what either of her brothers have to say about the matter! Includes disciplinary spankings, don't read if that doesn't appeal to you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unexpected Return

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: While not new to fanfiction, this is my first Sherlock fanfic. I was recently introduced to the series and fell in love with it. For reference, Mycroft is age 42 and Sherlock is 31.

Chapter 1: An Unexpected Return

John Watson turned the corner of Baker Street, plastic grocery bags in his hands, and came upon a most interesting scene. Almost directly in front of 221 was a young woman set upon by three men who were attempting to force her into a car. She put up one hell of a fight- kicking, scratching, and throwing punches. Though she held her own, John knew instinctively that the three large men would eventually succeed in getting her into the car, something that she was vocally protesting against.

“NO! I will not get in the car! HELP! I’m being kidnapped!” She shouted, continuing to scuffle and throw her fists wildly.

The grocery bags hit the sidewalk as John decided to intervene, rushing into the fray. Though the men were taller and outweighed him to varying degrees, John had the advantage of his military training which enabled him to subdue the would-be kidnappers. Sporting broken noses and bruises, the men finally surrendered and left in their vehicle. After watching the black car with tinted windows drive away, John turned back to the young woman, his doctoring instinct full on. “Are you alright?” John asked, approaching her slowly. “Did they hurt you during that scuffle? Put up quite a fight, you did.” He couldn’t keep the grin from his face as thought of her taking on those men by herself. John reached out, took her chin, and tipped her face to the side, frowning at the small cut on her cheek.

“Got backhanded,” she said quietly. “But I’m alright. Prolly deserved it, I bit him.” She gave John a cheeky little grin. “Thank you for coming to my rescue, I truly appreciate it.”

“Not a problem at all. I’m John Watson, by the way. I live right here, 221B, and I’m a doctor. If you’d like, you could come up for cuppa and I’ll treat that cut for you,” John offered.

She smiled and nodded, her blue-gray eyes lighting up at the offer. “That would be good, thank you,” she agreed. “I’m Rose.” Rose extended a hand and shook John’s before following him into the building.

“Lovely name, it suits you,” John decided as they headed up the stairs. “Kitchens right in here, I’ll start the kettle and then get my supplies and tend to your cheek. Take a seat at the table. Biscuits?”

“Mm, please,” Rose eagerly agreed. “You’re too kind. Please don’t feel obligated to fuss over me.” “Happy to fuss,” John replied, flashing her a smile.“Part of my job. Be right back with my kit.” Leaving the kettle on the pot to boil, John went up the stairs to his room to retrieve his first aid kit. The kit had expanded significantly since he’d moved in with Sherlock as injuries he’d not thought of treating at home had occurred during their investigations and needed more than basic first aid. Just as he returned to the kitchen, the door opened below and Sherlock began calling up the stairs as he climbed them.

“John! John! Mrs. Hudson tells me there was a fight out front and you were involved, what…” Sherlock stopped speaking as he turned the corner and entered the kitchen, catching sight of the young woman at the table. “You,” Sherlock said quietly, his eyes narrowing. “What are you doing here?”

Rose’s eyebrow quirked as she sized him up. “Nice to see you, too, dear. Have you been well? By the way, My will be here shortly. John sent his men packing when they tried to abduct me.”

“Wonderful!” Sherlock shouted. “That’s _just_ what I needed today, Mycroft.” He pointed a finger at Rose and turned to John, “This is my sister.”

John, who had just returned with his first aid kid, frowned and felt a bit confused. “I didn’t know you had a sister,” he pointed out rather needlessly.

“Neither did I, the last eighteen months. Disappeared without a trace,” Sherlock retorted angrily. “No texts or emails; no phone calls; no letters; not even a bloody postcard. And Mycroft, even with his vast resources, has been unable to find her. Didn’t bother to leave a note when she left either, just disappeared into thin air!”

Rose, at least, had the sense to look ashamed of herself. “My was suffocating me, I couldn’t take it any longer Sherlock. I needed to get away and not be found for a while. I wanted to contact you, but there was no way to do that without him tracing it and you know that.” “I do know that,” Sherlock admitted. “But that’s not an excuse. I. Was. Worried. Rosenwyn.”

“ _You_ were worried?” John asked. Sherlock rarely worried about anything besides curing his perpetual boredom between cases, let alone people.

“Rose, not Rosenwyn. You know I like it better,” Rose countered. Sherlock nodded. “And I refuse to call you that when I’m angry with you. I could call you by your first and middle name if you’d prefer, Rosenwyn Aramantha.” He turned to John after Rose scowled darkly. “Generally calling her that is accompanied by bellowing on my part, and sometimes a chase as well.”

John frowned. “A chase as well?”

Rose’s face flushed red. “Not in a while. I learned better. Mycroft doesn’t pursue, he just waits for me to show up again. Sherlock, however, does pursue and is, unfortunately, quite good at doing so,” she grumbled.

“I’m sorry I don’t follow,” John said, moving to pour the tea. “And angry or not Sherlock, she was a bit roughed up and I want to see to her injuries. Without your angry, glaring presence in the way, preferably. If you want to be angry at someone, first be angry with Mycroft’s men, one of which backhanded her.” He reached for Rose’s chin and tilted her head for Sherlock to see.

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed, though whether they did so at Rose or Mycroft’s henchmen was unclear, but dutifully he stepped out of John’s way.

John opened his first aid kit and took out some gauze and rubbing alcohol to clean the cut on her cheek, tilting her head once more to get a better look at it before doing so. “You know, Rosenwyn is a nice name as well. Just as fitting,” he murmured, more to make conversation than anything else. Though John had to admit to himself the odd selection fit right in with the names Sherlock and Mycroft.

“I know, but Rose is special,” she replied quietly. “Sherlock called me that, from the day I was born. Mum said he refused to call me Rosenwyn because it was much too big of a name for such a tiny babe as me.” John smiled; imagining Sherlock as a youngster always gave him a bit of a chuckle. He must have been a terror to raise! Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sherlock’s lips curl at the corners. “Alright, cheek is taken care of then,” he announced, setting aside the alcohol and gauze. “Anything else hurt?”

She nodded. “My ribs are sore, but I don’t think they’re broken.”

“Let me press on them a bit, tell me if it hurts,” John instructed. He pressed gently against her right ribs, moving slowly downward and did the same on the left side. Though Rose winced a bit here and there, he detected no breaks. “Just bruised I think. They’ll hurt for a bit, so be careful, but you’ll be right as rain. Take aspirin for the pain. In fact, I’ll get you some now.” He gave Rose a smile before leaving the kitchen to retrieve the pills.

“So she’s fine?” Sherlock asked when John returned. “No broken bones, no serious injuries?”

John shook his head. “She’ll be just fine. Maybe rest a bit for the next few days, those bruised ribs will hurt, but otherwise she’s alright.”

“Perfect,” Sherlock replied, a grim look coming over his face. “You, with me. Now,” he told Rose before addressing John once more. “Might I borrow your room momentarily? We need to have a bit of a discussion, Rose and I, and it could get noisy. More privacy up a floor,” he explained.

“Noisy?” John repeated. “Uh, yeah, sure.”

“No!” Rose said firmly. “No, no, no. We are not having a _discussion_ Sherlock. I am nearly twenty years old; there will be no discussions today or any other day.” She crossed her arms and gave Sherlock a penetrating look, hoping he would acquiesce.

“I do not recall asking your opinion on the matter, miss,” Sherlock replied in a very stern tone, adding a glare for effect. “Do I have to count? Don’t make me count Rosenwyn, you know I hate that.”

“No! No counting, no discussions, nothing Sherlock. I won’t allow it!”

As brother and sister argued, John stood off to the side in the kitchen feeling rather confused. He was quite sure something was going on that he wasn’t fully aware of and was uncertain what that might be.

“Fine, no counting,” Sherlock agreed with a nod. In one swift movement, he closed the space between them, lifted Rose from the chair and put her over his shoulder. “See? I didn’t count.” His tone was smug and had Rose been able to see his face, she would have found a smug look there as well. “Put me down Sherlock! Immediately!” Rose ordered, outraged. Her directions were completely ignored as Sherlock easily carried her from the kitchen and up the stairs to John’s room, shutting the door firmly behind him.

“You can’t spank me, I’m nineteen Sherlock! That’s completely unreasonable,” she protested when Sherlock finally put her back on her feet.

“I’m unreasonable? You go missing for eighteen months, might have been dead for all I know, and expect me to not be angry when you suddenly show up again?” Sherlock questioned, hands on his hips. “Your choice, Rosenwyn, left much to be desired and you cannot possibly tell me that you didn’t expect to get spanked when you came here today!”

Rose began shuffling her feet a bit, clearly uncomfortable under his scrutiny, and decided studying the carpet was much more interesting than looking at her angry brother. She couldn’t truthfully say that she hadn’t expected this reaction, but Rose had really been hoping to be proven wrong. Someday her brothers were going to need to acknowledge the fact that she was a woman and stop hovering over her protectively- and that included spankings.

The room was silent for a few uncomfortable moments as Sherlock studied his sister. Fidgeting, avoiding eye contact, very much like the last time he’d spanked her. Rose’s behavior never really changed over the years, no matter how many times he’d disciplined her. It had been three years since that had last occurred, though Sherlock knew Mycroft had taken her in hand at least a few times since then.

“Tell me, when was the last time you and I were having this type of conversation,” Sherlock directed. “Do you recall what you’d done?”

There was a slight pause as Rose tried to think back that far and when she recalled that spanking, she left out a groan.

“Ah, you _do_ remember. Very good,” Sherlock murmured, sounding far too pleased. It didn’t bode well for Rose and she knew it! “Tell me.”

“I was sixteen and I’d stayed out all night, with friends, after promising to be back at home by curfew. I even managed to avoid the police Mycroft sent to find me,” Rose recalled in a meek tone. “You found me though. That didn’t end well for me.”

“Precisely. And I dislike repeat offenses Rose,” he warned. “Not only did you repeat the disappearing act, you stretched it out for months and months, leaving no real trace of whether or not you were alive. That, Rosenwyn, is completely unacceptable, and you are going to be soundly spanked for it.” Sherlock turned away from her and entered John’s bathroom to retrieve his hairbrush. It was large, oval shaped and made of wood; he was sure it would pack a good sting. Holding it in his hand he returned to the bedroom and took a seat on the bed. “Come here, Rosenwyn, it’s time for our discussion.”

“You know, I truly hate that phrase, because there’s no actual talking that takes place,” Rose mumbled, even as she obeyed and went to Sherlock’s side. When his eyebrows went up, she sighed and pushed her leggings down to her knees before bending over his lap.

“Torso all the way on the bed,” Sherlock instructed. “Try to make it as comfortable as you can for your ribs.” Rather than waiting for Rose to adjust herself, he merely moved her to his satisfaction and proceeded to pull her panties down to her knees, baring her bottom for the hairbrush.

“Do you have to do that? Can’t I keep those up?” Rose pleaded. She received no response from Sherlock, other than the first smack of the hairbrush. Apparently, he did have to. She yelped in response to the stinging spank and reached for one of John’s bed pillows, promptly hugging it tightly as she fought to take her spanking quietly. There was no reason to alert everyone in Baker Street of the fact she was getting smacked!

Her fight to stay quiet quickly proved to be a losing battle and Rose let out a series of “Ouch! Ow! OW!” in response to some particularly sharp swats and began pleading after receiving the first dozen. “Sherlock please! Ow! Please, I’m sorry!”

“Please what? Please spank you properly in proportion to disappearing for over a year? I most certainly can and will do that,” Sherlock responded firmly. He wasn’t about to let her pleas get to him this early on.

Before long, Rose was in tears, squirming over his lap in an effort to remove her bottom from the line of fire, letting out yelps every few smacks as Sherlock brought the hairbrush down over and over again. He peppered each cheek thoroughly with the brush before moving to the other, and made certain her sit spots, where she would feel it most, were given equal attention. After all, if he was going to give a spanking, he might as well do a proper job of it!

Meanwhile, John couldn’t help but wonder what Sherlock and his sister were doing in his room. He could hear a bit of raised voices floating down the stairs, which wasn’t surprising. He and Harry had had some very vocal rows over the years, too.

The sound of raised voices ended as John drank his tea and worked on putting away the groceries he’d purchased. He didn’t realize it at first, but as a few moments ticked by, John suddenly stopped and frowned. New noises were coming from his bedroom that sounded like loud whacks followed by a quieter sound that he couldn’t identify. A moment later, it finally dawned on him- there was definitely some sort of smacking noise and the sounds of crying out were floating down the stairs. A wail followed shortly thereafter and John felt very uneasy about it.

Determined to make certain everyone was still alright, John hurried up the stairs, and the noises grew louder the closer he came to the door. When he opened it, John stopped in his tracks, jaw dropping. There was Sherlock, sitting on his bed, with Rose over his lap, thorough paddling her bottom with John’s own hairbrush. “Oh, my god,” he murmured.

“Problem?” Sherlock asked, pausing to address his flatmate. “We’ll be done shortly.”

Had Rose’s bottom not been on fire, she would have been completely mortified by the fact that John had opened the door and seen her bare bottom being spanked. As it was, she had more important things to worry about, like squirming and crying, and paid no attention to John whatsoever.

“Sherlock!” John shouted. “What… What are you doing? You’re going to hurt her, especially with those bruised ribs. And she’s not a child,” he felt compelled to point out.

“I’m well aware of her age, John,” Sherlock replied in a bored tone. “And I don’t care what age she is. Putting her life in danger is not something I’m willing to tolerate and she knows that. Rose knew exactly what was going to happen when she showed up here today.”

“Putting her life in danger? You’re hardly one to talk,” John pointed out, with a shake of his head. He very clearly remembered all the times Sherlock had behaved recklessly in pursuit of a case or during an experiment, in the short time they’d lived together. He could only begin to imagine the dangerous scenarios he wasn’t aware of!

“Well, we aren’t talking about me, are we John? We’re talking about Rose, who I am sure would wish you anywhere but here if she weren’t so concerned about how much her bum hurt. If you please,” Sherlock waved in the direction of the door. “Despite her caterwauling, I’m not actually injuring her.”

John stared at Sherlock for a moment longer before throwing his hands in the air and heading back downstairs. Who was he to get involved in a brother and sister issue?

As soon as he left, Sherlock resumed the spanking, lighting up Rose’s sit spots to a bright red hue that matched her bottom. With that accomplished, another dozen smacks, harder than the others had been, rained down before Sherlock ended the punishment and tossed the hairbrush in the direction of the bathroom.

With a gentleness that would have surprised anyone who knew him, Sherlock eased Rose’s clothing back up over her bottom. Upon restoring her modesty, he helped Rose to her feet before wrapping his arms around her and pulling her onto his lap, adjusting her position to accommodate her sore bottom. “Shhh, all done Rosie,” Sherlock murmured, holding her tight. “There, there. It’s alright now, shhh.”

Rose pressed her face against his chest and cried out her tears, one hand clutching his shirt; Sherlock knew that meant she was really hurting and his heart twisted painfully. It had been a very long time since Rose had clung to him that way. He rested his chin on her head, continuing to murmur soothingly to her. At times like this, it was hard to remember that Rose was in fact almost twenty. She had always been rather petite and even now, when it was unlikely she would grow any taller, stood at only 5’2” as compared to his height of 6 feet. She still fit relatively easily in his arms, and unfortunately for her, over his lap.

Though it took several tearful minutes for Rose to be comforted enough to calm down, there was no complaint to be heard from Sherlock, despite the growing wet spot on his shirt from her tears. When it came to her, Sherlock was surprisingly affectionate and more human than many would believe him capable of. Since the day Rose was born, they’d been close and he had always taken his duties as her older brother very seriously. That had not stopped them, however, from being occasional partners in crime, namely crimes against Mycroft, and many of Sherlock’s experiments as a teenager had included Rose when he was certain she wouldn’t be hurt.

“I’m sorry,” Rose whispered after her tears had begun to subside. “I’m not sorry I escaped Mycroft’s suffocating attention, but I am sorry I worried you Sherlock. And that I worried him, too.” Though she and Mycroft had very different views on what she should do with her life, which had prompted her disappearance, she did in fact love her eldest brother too and knew he’d been concerned.

“I’m not asking you to be sorry that you escaped Mycroft,” Sherlock assured her. “I’m asking you to never disappear that way again. I understand Mycroft is very overbearing and how unpleasant that can be, but you cannot just wander off without a word to anyone at all.

“And just so you’re aware, I used the hairbrush the entire time because this was the second time you have vanished and caused me to worry,” Sherlock told her. “You know I hate repeated offenses; one time should really be sufficient to learn your lesson. If this should happen again, I’ll find something else to use and you won’t like it a bit. Am I clear?” He glanced down at Rose with an expectant look on his face.

Rose hurriedly nodded. “Yes, quite clear. Should have remembered that,” she admitted. “But honestly Sherlock, I am sorry that I worried you so much, and I meant what I said before. I would have reached out, but then Mycroft would have tracked me down. You know there’s very little that goes on in Britain that he isn’t aware of.”

“I do know,” Sherlock admitted. “And I accept your apology. Though you should say you’re sorry to Mycroft as well.” He paused briefly and a smile spread across his face. “Oh, you are clever, my girl. Very, very clever,” he praised. “You knew exactly what Mycroft was going to do when he got a hold of you and that’s why you came here first.” It wasn’t a question, but rather a statement of fact. “Very clever indeed, Rose.”

She blushed bright red and nodded. “Well, to be honest, I’ve always preferred you for… this.”

“Can’t bring yourself to say it, can you? The word is ‘spanking,’” Sherlock teased. “The only real question is why. Six of the best would have been over much faster, and with a similar level of pain as the hairbrush. So aside from the obvious, knowing you hate the cane as does any sane person, why me?”

“You can’t deduce it all on your own?” She teased before turning serious. “Because of this. You’re gentle after. That means a lot to me.”

Warmth spread through Sherlock’s heart at her words. “That’s how it should be done,” he said firmly. “Mycroft doesn’t, and hasn’t in a long while in fact, since I started getting older. Not that I don’t think he cares, mind you, but I need comfort afterwards. A very quick hug and pat on the cheek isn’t enough when I’m crying my eyes out,” Rose explained. “And I hate the cane and that tends to be Mycroft’s go-to when I’ve been particularly out of line.”

“I’ll never stop cuddling you after,” Sherlock promised very solemnly. The word ‘cuddle’ sounded strange coming out of his mouth, but that’s precisely what he was doing just then: practically cradling her in his arms as she rested against his chest, while he attempted to soothe the tears he’d caused. “And not just after a spanking either.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, brushing her dark curly hair, so much like his own, away from her face. “You’ve always craved cuddles, to almost an alarming rate when you were small,” he murmured. “There were days when it felt like I was constantly holding you, or you were attached to me, arms around my leg, looking up at me with those wide eyes.”

“And to your credit, more often than not, you scooped me up for one, even while letting out those long-suffering sighs you’re so fond of,” Rose said, giving him a smile. “I remember all those times; they’re locked away in my mind palace.” She loved teasing Sherlock and he made it all too easy for her sometimes.

“As fun as this reminiscing is, I’m quite sure Mycroft has arrived by now and is waiting for you. I think John is as well, he seemed quite concerned when he came up here mid-spanking,” Sherlock told her.

“Oh, my god, I was hoping that wasn’t real,” Rose moaned as she stood up from his lap. “How utterly humiliating.”

“How very like the good doctor,” Sherlock countered. “Always concerned about his patients. I think the noise alarmed him, to be honest. You were quite loud; caterwauling in fact.”

Rolling her eyes, the best response Rose cared to put together at that moment was to stick her tongue out at him before exiting John’s room. “Time to face the music,” she said aloud and started down the stairs.

Rose descended the stairs with Sherlock right behind her and let out a sigh of relief when Mycroft was nowhere in sight. John, however, was sitting in his chair and her face went bright red when they made eye contact.

“Uh, I’m sorry Rose. For… interrupting,” John said quietly. “It wasn’t my intention to embarrass you, I was just slightly alarmed by all the noise. It didn’t occur to me that the noises corresponded to…”

“John, are you shy about that word as well?” Sherlock teased. “Spanking. The noise corresponded to a spanking.”

John coughed a bit and nodded. “Yes, that. Right,” he muttered. “But your ribs aren’t hurting any worse are they?” This was directed at Rose, who was trying desperately to avoid looking at him.

“No, Sherlock was careful, he always is,” she hurried to assure him. “I’d like some tea, may I make some?”

“I’ll start the kettle,” Sherlock offered, heading into the kitchen. “Make yourself comfortable somewhere. I’m more than a little surprised that Mycroft isn’t already…” The sound of the main door opening downstairs ended that train of thought. “Spoke too soon. Hello Mycroft.”

The eldest Holmes ignored his brother entirely and went straight to where Rose stood near the island in the kitchen. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he gave Rose a good shake and bellowed, “WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?! I have been worried sick about you!” Mycroft added another shake before pulling her into a tight hug. It was an uncharacteristic show of affection that took even Sherlock by surprise.

“Hello,” Rose replied in a soft, anxious tone. She was uncertain what to make of the spontaneous hug, but she didn’t have to wonder for long. Mycroft ended the hug, used one hand to pull her to the side and the other landed several hearty smacks to her bottom, making Rose yelp and begin to cry once more.

“You are so absolutely outrageous, I can hardly fathom it!” he thundered, paying no attention to her tears. “Gallivanting around who knows where doing God only knows what! Between you and Sherlock I am going to die an early death, I swear it! And you are going to tell me about all your fake passports or whatever it is you used to get around without being found!”

As Mycroft raised his hand to continue spanking her, Sherlock’s voice rang out like a firecracker. “MYCROFT!” In the few seconds that it took for Mycroft to pause and look over at Sherlock, the younger Holmes brother had closed the distance between them and stood between Rose and Mycroft.

“It has been taken care of,” he said in a firm tone. “That is enough. I have handled it sufficiently, your input is unnecessary.”

An eyebrow rose as Mycroft turned to look at Rose, who was crying quite hard, harder than she should have been had she not already been spanked. He immediately released her and watched as Rose brushed the tears from her face, finally pulling out a handkerchief for her. “We are going to have a long talk, you and I. This will not happen again, ever, young lady.”

“I’m not talking to you about a thing if you send anyone else to abduct me off the street,” Rose shot back. “That was uncalled for, I would have come to find you soon enough!”

“She’s right, no more of your men and mysterious black vehicles,” Sherlock said firmly. “They hurt her, Mycroft.” He cupped Rose’s chin and tipped her head, showing Mycroft the cut on her cheek. “And her ribs, don’t forget they bruised her ribs,” John added, reminding them all he was there watching this family spectacle. “She could have seriously been hurt Mycroft. Though I’m quite sure I made the unacceptability of their actions clear earlier. You don’t man-handle ladies, not even when the lady is your sister.”

Rose attempted to stifle a laugh and failed miserably. “Not even when the lady is your sister, John? Really?” She gave in to the laughter, the melodic sound of it breaking the tension that had been rising in the kitchen, and turned her attention to the now-boiling kettle.

“I apologize that you were injured, Rose. That certainly wasn’t my intent, but I didn’t exactly have good reason to trust you, given the fact that you’ve been gone for eighteen months,” Mycroft stated firmly. “We do need to talk and reestablish some rules and parameters and I do mean it Rose, this will not happen ever again. You are not allowed to go off whenever you please. Now, my car is waiting outside and I will take you home before returning to the office.”

“No, I don’t think so,” she decided, blowing on her tea before sipping at it. “I don’t want to go home Mycroft. I’m not a little girl and I don’t want to live at home anymore, nor do I want you to make decisions about my future without even discussing them with me. You know that is precisely what will happen if I go home today and I don’t want to be suffocated again.”

Mycroft’s eyebrows rose. “So, you won’t come home then, young lady? Where exactly do you believe you’ll be staying then, Rose?”

“She can stay here, for a few days. We have a couch,” Sherlock interjected. He took considerable pleasure from the look of annoyance that crossed his brother’s face at his offer.

“Sherlock, really!” John scolded. “She’s your sister.”

Sherlock looked over at Rose, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “Not good?”

“A bit not good,” Rose replied, chuckling.

“Alright, alright, you insufferable brat. I’ll give you my bed, in exchange for a hot breakfast. This isn’t a boarding house after all,” Sherlock teased.

“I want to talk to you Rose. If not today, then tomorrow. We have a lot to talk about,” Mycroft said.

“I’ll send her ‘round tomorrow. No cars,” Sherlock stated firmly. “In fact, she’ll be escorted. I’m busy, but John should be available.” He looked out of the kitchen towards his flatmate. “Care to escort my sister to Mycroft’s office tomorrow for a chat?”

John nodded his agreement. “If that’s what it takes to keep her from being abducted, I’d be happy to.”

Sherlock smiled. “Then it’s settled! Goodbye Mycroft.”

With a sigh, Mycroft decided to take his leave, having been summarily dismissed by Sherlock. “Rosenwyn, look at me,” he ordered. When he had her attention, he continued. “Please behave, alright? And Sherlock, make sure she does!”

Rose nodded her agreement then watched him go back down the stairs to exit the building. “Thank you for letting me stay, Sherlock. You too, John.” She flashed the ex-soldier a smile, receiving one in return.

“I was serious when I said for a few days. I am not extending an invitation for you to become a permanent fixture of our flat,” Sherlock warned her. “However, until suitable arrangements can be made with Mycroft, you’re welcome to stay. Even though John is forcing me to surrender my bed to you.”

She laughed once more, shaking her head. “Don’t worry, I’ve already got a plan in mind. Wouldn’t have come back without one.”


	2. Failure to Communicate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rose presents her plans to Mycroft.

Chapter 2: Failure to Communicate

 

Following the afternoon’s excitement, the rest of the day passed rather peacefully. Sherlock and Rose caught up with one another, John ordered takeaway, and each pursued their own activity that evening. Rose curled up with a book in John’s arm chair, Sherlock turned his attention to yet another experiment in the kitchen and John worked on a blog entry. The flat was quiet, yet buzzed, in a way, with the sounds of domesticity. John was a bit surprised to realize that Sherlock looked much more relaxed than he had in a long time.

The quiet was broken by a soft thud that startled both men, who discovered that Rose was fast asleep and the book she’d been reading had fallen out of her hands onto the floor.

“Keep an eye on her, will you?” Sherlock asked.

John nodded, feeling quite capable of watching the sleeping young woman. “Are you going out?”

“I’m going to rummage through her bag. I’d like to make certain she doesn’t run off again,” Sherlock explained. Without waiting for John’s reply, Sherlock entered his bedroom and located the bag Rose had arrived with. Opening the large duffle bag, he turned it upside down and dumped its contents on the bed.

Clothing was tossed off to the side as unimportant; the pink ipod drew a chuckle from the detective. He couldn’t help but think that if Mycroft had put some sort of tracking device in her ipod, this whole thing would have been done a long time back. Still, that was unimportant and the music player joined the pile of clothing. The last items from the bag were two books, novels in fact, and Sherlock was about to toss them aside when he realized there was something inside one of the books.

“Fake book, nicely done,” he murmured, despite there being no one to hear him. Opening the book, he discovered it had been partly hollowed out and nestled inside were not one but _three_ British passports. Shaking his head, Sherlock put all the other items back inside her bag and returned to the sitting room, tossing the passports at John without a word.

Sherlock crossed the room and rubbed his sleeping sister’s shoulder. “Rose, time for bed,” he murmured. “Can you get up and walk?” When he received no response, other than the continued breathing pattern of someone fast asleep, Sherlock rolled his eyes and carefully picked her up to carry her into his bedroom. He lovingly tucked her into his bed and then stood there in the dark, watching her. A part of him almost couldn’t believe she was there, returned from her escapades unhurt and, hopefully, a bit more mature then when she’d left. Another part of him wondered if she’d be there still when he woke up the next morning. Unaware of the time passing, Sherlock sat beside her on the bed and continued to watch her sleep.

When Sherlock didn’t return after ten minutes, John got up from the couch to make sure everything was alright. Just as he poked his head inside Sherlock’s bedroom, he saw the detective reach out and stroke Rose’s curly hair, brushing it out of her face before leaning over to kiss her forehead. Turning away, John returned to the sitting room and picked up the passports Sherlock had tossed him.

Sherlock came out of the bedroom a moment later, shutting the door quietly behind him. “Can you even believe it?” he asked, indicating the passports. “There’s got to be a fantastic story about how she managed to get those other two without Mycroft being alerted. I’m sure he put some sort of alert out to all the embassies to keep watch for her. Though without knowing what name, or names, to search for, that was doomed to failure.”

Taking the passports back from John, he opened the first one and, discovering it was the legitimate one, tossed it back on the couch. The second one drew a chuckle from the detective when he spotted the name: Nora Charles. “I told Mycroft she’d pick names from her favorite films, it was merely a process of narrowing down which were her very favorites,” he murmured, showing John.

John peered at the passport. “I think this faked, it doesn’t look quite right,” he commented. “And what movie is Nora Charles from?”

“Of course it’s fake John. A very, very good fake, but the text is just slightly blurred,” Sherlock pointed out. “And the name is from an old American film, The Thin Man.” Opening the second one produced another smile. “And Tracy Samantha Lord, from The Philadelphia Story. She’s clever; Mycroft never took my suggestions for searching character names seriously. I’m sure she counted on that, and clearly, I was right.

“Rose studied cinema at university,” he enlightened John. “And literature. Mycroft refused to pay for her to major in something that amounted to, in his opinion, little more than watching films, but agreed to let her major in it so long as she studied something else as well, so literature it was. Graduated with honors.”

John frowned. “She’s not yet twenty and she’s got an undergraduate degree? How is that possible?”

“Rose skipped some years of grade school and began attending university at fourteen, graduated at seventeen,” Sherlock replied. There was no mistaking the note of pride in his voice as he spoke; his little sister, a university graduate at seventeen. “She’d just finished her first semester of law school when she disappeared. I told Mycroft forcing her to go would be a mistake.”

John couldn’t help but be impressed at what Rose had already achieved so early in her life. He’d been at university for ages becoming a doctor. “What do you intend to do with the passports?” John wondered. “Not give them back to her, surely.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “That should be abundantly obvious John. If I give them back to her, she can leave again. Rose won’t get far without a passport and I doubt she has enough money to purchase anymore fakes; those aren’t cheap. I’ll hide them away. That way Mycroft and I stand a chance of keeping her in the country.”

John nodded. “Well, good luck with that then. I’m going to head to bed, good night.”

“Good night John,” Sherlock responded. Before going to sleep himself, he took a picture of the passports with his phone and sent it in a text to Mycroft: ‘Will put them in a safe place. SH.’

\------------------------------------------------------

The following morning, Rose awoke just past seven. When she opened her eyes, she was filled with panic for a few moments, not knowing where she was. Then it all came back and, knowing she was in Sherlock’s room, left out a sigh of relief.

Uncertain of who was up and who wasn’t Rose took Sherlock’s dressing robe off the hook on the back of the door and put it on over her pajamas and then helped herself to his slippers as well. They were quite big on her little feet, so she abandoned that plan and dug for her own in her bag, putting them on before venturing out of the bedroom.

The flat was eerily quiet, indicating both men were still asleep. Sherlock, sprawled on the couch with a blanket and pillow clearly was, and since no sound was coming from the upstairs bedroom, John had to be sleeping as well. Seeing no need to wake them just yet, Rose headed into the kitchen, pushed aside Sherlock’s microscope and various unidentified items from the island, and started on breakfast. Soon bacon was sizzling, eggs were scrambling, and hash browns were browning.

“Sherlock,” Rose called from the kitchen. “Sherlock, wake up, there’s food.” The man on the couch didn’t stir and Rose wasn’t in a position where she could leave the food long enough to go rouse him from sleep. With a shrug, she took off one of her slippers and threw it at him, giggling with satisfaction when it smacked his face and Sherlock startled awake.

“Good morning!” Rose called out in a sing-song voice. “Food is just about ready!”

Sherlock scowled at her from the couch and picked up her slipper. “You threw your slipper at me!” he exclaimed. “What was that for?”

“You wouldn’t wake up,” she answered easily.

“I’ll wake _you_ up in a minute,” he grumbled. Holding the slipper in his hand, Sherlock entered the kitchen and gave her a good smack across the bottom with it.

Rose yelped in response. “Ow! That _hurt_!”

“See? It’s not nice to throw slippers at people, they might smack you with them in return,” he commented glibly, holding the offending slipper out for her to take.

Rose accepted it and placed it back on her foot. “Duly noted,” she muttered. “Spoil sport.”         

“Why are you wearing my dressing robe, by the way? What if I needed it?” Sherlock teased.

“Because I’m in my pajamas underneath and I didn’t want to embarrass John if he was awake,” Rose explained patiently. “And you should go wake him up, breakfast is ready to be served. After we’re done, I’m going to have a chat with Mrs. Hudson.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few hours later, John’s mobile went off, alerting him to a text. ‘Bring her now. MH.’ “Is your sister still with Mrs. Hudson? Mycroft wants to see her now. Say, why aren’t you taking her? You don’t look particularly busy,” John said with a chuckle.

“Because I know precisely how this will turn out. Mycroft and I will end up fighting about how to parent her and when you fight in front of a child, that undermines your authority with said child,” Sherlock answered without looked up from his microscope. “He and I rarely agree on anything, other than the fact that we like to know where Rose is and that she is safe.”

John nodded, having assumed as much. “See you in a while then.” He headed downstairs to collect Rose from Mrs. Hudson. “Ready?” he asked as they climbed into a cab.

“About as ready as I’ll ever be,” Rose replied, as she slunk down in the seat. She pulled her newsboy cap down over her eyes.

“Maybe Mycroft will surprise you,” John told her, sounding quite optimistic.

Rose pushed her cap back up to look at John. “I hope you’re right. I really hope I proved that I can take care of myself. I don’t need to be watched over and cosseted and protected. I’m ready to begin my life and do what I love.”

“Which is?”

“Dance. I’m a dancer and I’d like to go professional. Tried law school and it just wasn’t me. Boring, boring, boring, no life to it at all. Dancing is so amazing and freeing and I’ve been told I have a good potential of going professional, which is why I kept dancing at little no name studios wherever I went while I was off adventuring,” Rose explained.

A few minutes later they arrived at Mycroft’s office building and were escorted to his office by a security official. “Ah, you’re still in the country,” Mycroft quipped when they entered. “John, if you would be so good as to wait outside while I conference with my sister privately.”

“Right,” John agreed. He gave Rose an encouraging smile before exiting and closing the door behind him. Taking advantage of some bench seating in the hallway, John sat down to wait for them to finish. For a while, he was sure it was going well, but eventually he heard raised voices, and someone’s hand slam on a desk top…

“So, I talked to Mrs. Hudson and 221C is available for rent and she said she’d happily rent it to me. I’d like to live close to both you and Sherlock, but have some independence,” Rose explained. “I thought that might be a good solution, since I don’t want to move back home. Nothing personal, but I’ve been on my own for a while now and it would be weird to live at home and have all those rules again.”

Mycroft sighed as he considered the issue. There were certainly worse places for her to live, and at least Sherlock would be nearby to keep an eye on her. In fact, he’d pay Sherlock and John a hefty sum to do just that! “Alright, I’ll agree to you taking the apartment Mrs. Hudson has to offer,” he decided.

Rose breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back in her chair. She accepted the cup of tea Mycroft offered her and sipped it for a few moments before setting it down and moving on to the next part of her plan. “I’ve already had a job offer, at the dance studio I used to attend,” she explained. “They’re very eager to have me back teaching the little ones their ballet again, and are more than willing to work around any professional engagements. They’ll even help me find an agent, who will help me get into the professional world. I’m really very excited about it.” For as long as she could remember, she’d loved to dance more than anything else in life.

“Rosenwyn, how many times do we have to go over this?” Mycroft asked, immediately sounding frustrated. “If you want to work there, fine, I don’t care. But dancing is a hobby, it is not a career. What will you do if you become injured? Or you don’t cut it professionally? What will you have to fall back on?” He rubbed his forehead, trying to ease the oncoming headache.

“Thank you for your faith in me,” Rose grumbled. “Look, I have my undergraduate degree. If something happens I can get a teaching license and work in a school, or I could go back to school and pursue a graduate degree. I think there are a lot of options for me if this doesn’t work out. Teaching dance is good money and an agent would help my career so much. I wouldn’t even have to pay for the agent!”

Mycroft shook his head. “Absolutely out of the question. Dancing is not a career. You need to go back to law school or pursue medicine, or do something worthwhile. I never intended for all these dance lessons you took as a child to become an obsession for you. You _must_ find something else, particularly if you expect me to support your endeavors.”

“WHY?!” Rose exclaimed, all her frustration coming out in her sharp tone. She couldn’t believe they were arguing about this yet again! “Mycroft, look. I’m not really asking for permission here, I’m telling. I’m telling you that I tried to do what you wanted and was completely miserable. Now it’s time for me to do what I want and frankly, I don’t care whether or not you approve of it.”

Mycroft stared her down from across his desk, a dark, angry look on his face. “Well that’s a fine way to speak to me!” He slammed his hand on the desk for emphasis.  “I didn’t raise you to talk to me in that fashion. You’re a _child_ and whether or not you want my permission, you’d best have it miss, or life will be very difficult for you.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that though!” Rose told him. “I didn’t ask you to raise me and…”

 “And I most certainly didn’t ask for you to be born and become my responsibility, did I?!” Mycroft shouted at her. The moment the words left his mouth he regretted them. Rose visibly deflated before his eyes, going quite still, looking at the floor rather than at him. His words had hurt her, deeply.

“Rose, I’m…” Before Mycroft could get out an apology, Rose got up from her chair, grabbed the tea pot on his desk and threw it at his head. In an effort to get out of the way, Mycroft fell out of his chair with an undignified sort of squeak and the tea pot hit the wall behind him, showering his head with tea and broken china pieces.

Without another word, Rose turned and left the office, slamming the door behind her, and walked straight into John.

“What was that crash, what happened?” John demanded with a frown. “Is Mycroft injured?”

“If he is, I don’t care,” Rose ground out. “Let me alone.” She pushed him away from her, intent on leaving the building as quickly as possible.

John debated internally for a few seconds on what to do: see to Mycroft, or go after Rose. Ultimately he decided to go after Rose, and chased her down the hallway and out of the building, spotting her on the sidewalk as she waved frantically for a cab. When she saw him coming towards her, Rose turned to run and was unpleasantly surprised to find that John was not only a good runner, but did in fact catch up with her rather easily, grabbing hold of her arm.

“Rose, you can’t just go off again. Sherlock will murder us both if you do. What happened? Why are you so upset?” John asked. He was truly concerned about her and fearful that she’d disappear all over again. The flush of her cheeks and the tears shining in her eyes, which she tried desperately to keep from letting fall, alerted him to the fact that she was very, very upset indeed.

“Let. Go. Of. Me.” Rose ground out, trying to pull her arm away. “I mean it John, let go!”

“Not a chance,” John said sternly. “Stop trying to get away from me! We’ll get a cab and go… somewhere. Anywhere you’d like, but I can’t let you run.”

Rather than respond verbally, Rose attempted to push him away from her, shoving with all her might. She nearly succeeded in toppling John over because she’d taken him by surprise. “Hey now,” John said sternly, grabbing hold of her other arm. “Look at me, young lady. I just want to get you somewhere safely, I’m not trying to hurt you and there is no reason to start shoving me around. I’m on your side!” At least he thought he was, but it was hard to know for sure without understanding what happened in Mycroft’s office.

She responded by kicking him in the shin and trying to pull away once more. “THAT,” John shouted. “IS ENOUGH!” Pulling her closer to him, he landed a mighty smack to her bottom, not stopping to think about whether or not he had a right to do so. “I am trying to be your friend here and do _not_ deserve to be pushed, kicked, or anything else you feel like doing amid your tantrum! Are we clear?”

“How dare you?!” Rose shouted back, slapping him hard across the face. Her eyes suddenly went wide, suddenly realizing how terribly out of line that was. “John, I…”

Before she could get another word out, John began dragging her towards a side street, away from the small crowd that had begun to gather around them. As soon as he had achieved a bit more privacy, he yanked on her arm, tucked her under his, and smacked her bottom hard several times.

“You can’t! Don’t! Owwww!” Rose yelped. She struggled to get away, but John had her locked tightly against his side and she had no choice but to stay right where she was. She fought the urge to cry out and draw attention to what was happening. The tears began to fall in fast succession and she stopped squirming, not bothering to fight him anymore.

The instant she settled down, John stopped smacking her bum and let her up, though he kept a hand on each shoulder. “Are you done?” he asked sternly. “Done with your tantrum now?” His heart twisted painfully when he saw the tears streaking down her cheeks, but had a feeling the brief smacking alone wasn’t the only cause for them. Still, he would remain stern until she got herself under control.

Rose nodded, indicating her anger had abated. She opened her mouth to verbally confirm it, but her breath hitched as she struggled to keep from all-out crying.

“Alright,” John replied with a nod. “Good to hear.” He reached out and gently brushed the tears from her cheeks with the pad of his thumb. “You don’t have to tell me what happened with Mycroft, in fact you don’t have to tell me anything at all,” he admitted. “And I’m sorry if I overstepped my bounds just now but you were _really_ out of line. That being said… is there somewhere you want to go? Something you want to do?”

For a moment Rose just stared at him, looking so lost and John instinctively pulled her into a hug.  He felt her hesitate for a moment, before putting her arms around him and pressing her face into his shoulder.

“No more tears,” he murmured in a gentle tone. “Deep breaths, you’ll be alright. That’s a good girl,” he praised when Rose did as he asked. It amazed him that this young woman he held in his arms was the same one who had survived in the world all on her own for over a year. Then again, everyone had their breaking point, and if the raised voices he’d heard were any indication, things had gone very badly in Mycroft’s office.

“Better?” he asked after a few moments. “How does coffee sound? There’s a great coffee shop just a couple blocks away that makes the best lattes anywhere.”

She looked up at him, giving him a small smile as she pushed her curls away from her face. “That sounds good, actually. And John? I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have done any of that, especially not slap you. I was really, really angry, and hurting, and you had nothing to do with that. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, I won’t hold it against you,” John told her with a smile. “So, may I escort you to the coffee shop?” He held his arm out for her to take, hoping Rose wouldn’t use this as an opportunity to run away from him. Much to his relief, she slipped her arm through his and they started off towards the coffee shop. “That’s a good girl,” he said quietly, patting her hand. “Just remember I’m not your enemy in any of this family business, yeah?”

“I will,” Rose assured him. “I promise. Speaking of family, what are we going to tell my brother? Sherlock, I mean, about… uh, that bit just now?”

John began to blush and coughed uncomfortably, uncertain how Sherlock would feel about him taking it upon himself to spank Rose. “Well… That is a good question; a very good question indeed...”

 

   

 


	3. Melancholy Baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not particularly gifted when it comes to naming chapters of anything, whether it's fanfic or my own damn degree thesis, LOL. Am open to suggestions for renaming this one. It becomes more relevant later in the chapter, promise.

‘Is Rose with you? M’

‘No, I thought she was visiting you. SH’

‘She left. Things did not go well. M’

‘Why does that not surprise me? SH’

‘She threw a tea pot at my head, had to have stitches. M’

‘You probably deserved that.  I’m at a crime scene, try John. SH’

John’s mobile went off several times in a row as he and Rose stood in line at the coffee shop. “They’re trying to figure out if I’m with you or wandering around,” she murmured. “You should respond, before Mycroft sends police.”

‘Relax, she’s with me. Things went poorly with Mycroft, she’s upset. Having coffee,’ John texted Sherlock. To Mycroft he sent, ‘Yes, she is with me and upset. I’m not bringing her back. Sort it out on your own.’ He wasn’t Rose’s keeper after all, and if she didn’t want to go back to Mycroft’s office, there was no reason why he should make her.

“John, I just realized I don’t have any money. I didn’t think to bring some, since I was only going to see Mycroft,” Rose whispered, prompting John to turn his attention from his mobile back to her.

“Don’t worry about it, my treat,” he answered easily. Ordering a coffee for himself and a chai latte for Rose, he paid for and collected the drinks, then directed Rose to a table near the large front windows of the store.

“You know,” John said quietly as they sat down. “I’m a rather good listener. If you want to talk, that is. Don’t feel like you have to.”

Rose smiled at his offer and took a sip of her latte before responding. “Thanks, I appreciate that.”

“Things are rather complicated between you and your brothers aren’t they?” John asked.

She nodded. “ _Very_ complicated. There’s a considerable age gap between us, with Mycroft being a whole twenty-two years older than I am. I’m quite sure I wasn’t planned by my parents,” Rose admitted. “Mum had been advised not to have any more children after Sherlock because pregnancies were so difficult for her. She was rather fragile. Father was never really interested in any of us, I’ve been told, and in any case, he died when I was two. Since Mum’s health was poor, Mycroft really took over raising me. I don’t even remember Father at all, but I remember Mycroft, as far back as my memories go. And there’s lots of good memories with him too,” Rose added, smiling thoughtfully.

“Things became more difficult when Mum died. I was ten and Mycroft became fully responsible for me and Sherlock as well I guess. Even though Sherlock was an adult by then, he’s always worried Mycroft to a considerable extent.”

John laughed. “He still does. Mycroft offered me money to spy on Sherlock for him when I moved into 221B.”

She rolled her eyes. “That doesn’t surprise me at all. But I think it was very stressful for Mycroft, worrying about Sherlock and trying to raise me. I admit I wasn’t the easiest of children.” Her face blushed a bit at that admission.

“I don’t think children are ever easy. They all worry their parents or guardians and act out as they grow up,” John commented thoughtfully. “Were you and Sherlock close?”

“Yes, very! Always have been,” Rose confirmed with a grin. “Though I’m not entirely sure when he made the transition from just being my older brother to becoming a second guardian, more or less. But I followed him around a lot when I was small.” She laughed softly, thinking back to all the fun they’d had then. “The more Mycroft became involved in the government though, the more they shared taking care of me, which brought Sherlock and I even closer. I think he’s always understood me better than Mycroft, who is very, very traditional.” Rose sighed and drank more of her latte.

“He wants what’s best for me, and I really do know that, he’s just very overbearing about it. That’s why I had to get away. I couldn’t stay in law school, I was so completely miserable there. I wanted to be an adult, get out in the world and see new places, meet new people, and really establish myself as independent. Maybe, in retrospect, it wasn’t my brightest decision ever.” Rose whispered that admission, as if confessing a secret to John.

“To be honest, I’d have to agree with that. Not the brightest idea. I admire the boldness of it,” John admitted. “Everyone needs to get out there and have some adventures when they’re young. It’s not especially adult to vanish in order to do so, leaving family members worried sick about you.” His tone was lightly scolding and he hoped Rose would take his words to heart and think twice before ever disappearing again.

Rose blushed, looking a bit ashamed of herself, clearly agreeing with John on a certain level. “I know,” she said quietly. “And I do feel badly that I worried them. Sometimes I really missed them terribly. At the same time though, it was such a freeing experience! Police weren’t called to look for me if I was thirty minutes late, I wasn’t followed around by people under the guise of protecting me. A person has to fall flat on their face sometimes, learn from the experience, and move on, right?”

John nodded. “That’s true enough,” he agreed. “Life is often a series of trials and errors, and that’s what gives us character and makes us who we are. So what exactly were your big plans that you proposed to Mycroft today? I’m assuming he didn’t agree with them,” he added.

As Rose detailed her plan for him, he found himself thinking it might actually be for the best if she took that empty flat in their building. While she had achieved quite a lot at a young age, it was very clear to him that Rose was still transitioning from teenager to adult and didn’t know _everything._ It wouldn’t hurt to have her close enough for Sherlock to keep an eye on, while still allowing some independence.

“What kind of dancing do you want to do professionally?” John asked. He smiled as he watched her face light up when she talked about dancing. It was clearly something very important to her, that she was passionate about, and he personally didn’t see the harm in letting her try to make a go of it. Then again, Rose wasn’t his sister either.

“Ballroom dancing in particular, just because it’s such a big deal right now,” Rose explained. “I’m rather good at it and I’ve done it for a quite some time. I think if I found the right partner, we could do competitions and I could get my name out there. Ballet and ballroom are by far my strengths, but I’ve had training in jazz, tap, you name it. I think I’d like to have my own studio some day, but that isn’t likely to happen without a professional reputation.”

“All very good points to consider. Try to give Mycroft some time, maybe he’ll come ‘round,” John advised. He personally doubted it, but one could always hope!

After spending the better part of two hours chatting at the coffee shop, John and Rose caught a cab back to Baker Street. Sherlock had already returned from the crime scene he’d visited and was busy in the kitchen, doing an experiment on some fingers he’d been keeping in the fridge.

“You know, I grew up watching him do experiments, but seeing him do stuff like that just never becomes normal,” Rose murmured to John.

“And let’s hope it stays that way,” John said, laughing. “I might begin to worry about us if we stop being bothered by it.” As a doctor, John didn’t mind the blood or dismembered body parts he often saw Sherlock experiment with, it was more the fact that it was done in their kitchen where they cooked meals that bothered him. Somehow, he’d learned to put that aside, at least most of the time, after living with Sherlock for over a year now.

“Rose, did you throw a tea pot at Mycroft’s head?” Sherlock asked, never looking up from his work.

“Skipping the pleasantries, are we?” Rose asked quietly. “Yes, I threw a tea pot at his head and he deserved it. He said something very, very hurtful.”

“Oh my god. You’re completely serious, aren’t you?” John asked, his eyebrows raised, looking between brother and sister.

“Damn, I was hoping Mycroft was exaggerating to gain sympathy from me,” Sherlock muttered. With a long-suffering sigh, he put down the finger he was working with and looked at her. “Come here,” he said firmly, crooking his finger at her. “Now.”

With the tragic air of someone on their way to be executed, Rose shuffled across the sitting room and entered the kitchen, stopping next to her brother.

“First, let me say that I love you dearly,” Sherlock said quietly. “However, I am compelled to ask if you are completely insane?” His only answer was a dark scowl, so he merely continued. “You are so illogical at times it’s almost inconceivable. I don’t even know what to say to you. A tea pot; at his _head_. That is childish Rosenwyn, not to mention dangerous. Mycroft required stitches! When are you going to outgrow this nasty habit of throwing things at people? And I’m not talking about your slipper this morning, which was done in jest I know, but when you’re angry. At some point you simply _must_ stop throwing things at people just because they’ve vexed you. Even when they deserve it, and I have no doubt Mycroft did deserve a tea pot to the head, that does _not_ make it acceptable behavior.”

The longer Sherlock scolded, the redder her face became, until Rose decided her shoes were much more interesting to look at. Perhaps what bothered her most was that she couldn’t really disagree with anything he’d said, as much as she wanted to.

“How old are you, Rosenwyn?” Sherlock asked sternly. When Rose didn’t answer, or even look at him, he reached out to tip her head back up. “I suggest you pay attention to what I have to say, miss. Answer the question. How old are you?”

“Nineteen; twenty just before Christmas,” she answered in a meek tone.

“Your actions today do not reflect that you are of legal age or that you are a fully capable adult that can make intelligent decisions.” Sherlock knew his tone was quite harsh, causing Rose to cringe, but she needed to hear this. “If your plan was to convince Mycroft that you’re old enough to decide where to live and what sort of career you’d like to have, I’d say you failed spectacularly at that, because adults. Don’t. Throw. Tea pots.”

Tears gathered in her blue-gray eyes and began to silently trail down her cheeks, but to her credit, Rose nodded to indicate she understood him. “Sherlock,” she whispered, her breath hitching. “H-h-he said…”

Sherlock had intended to continue scolding her but something in her eyes told him to wait and let her get what she needed to say out.

“He said ‘I m-m-most certainly didn’t ask for you to be born and become m-m-my responsibility,’” Rose whispered through her tears.

The look in her eyes was absolutely heartbreaking and Sherlock immediately wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. He was stunned by what Mycroft had said to her, and very, very angry. He hugged Rose tighter still when she began to sob.

For John, who had been sitting in his arm chair and overheard the entire exchange in the kitchen, Rose’s behavior earlier suddenly made sense. It was no wonder she’d been lashing out at him; anger was always much easier to deal with than the kind of hurt Mycroft’s comment must have caused.

Without a word, Sherlock picked Rose up and carried her over to the couch where he could hold her better than he could in the kitchen. Settling her on his lap, he began rubbing her back gently as she cried. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m so sorry he said that.”

When her tears eased up, Sherlock tipped her chin up to look at her. “He didn’t mean that Rose,” he assured her earnestly. “I know he didn’t because I was there the day you were born and Mycroft was absolutely enamored of you. As was I,” he added, pausing to kiss her forehead. “He loves you very, very much and I know he didn’t mean it. And I will make certain he knows how out of line that was. But I promise you, he loves you and has never once in the last nineteen years ever uttered a word of complaint or unhappiness at raising you. We’re very proud to call you ours, you know that? Whatever you do, you’ll always be ours and we will love you through it all.”

The depth of emotion in Sherlock’s words took John by surprise and he knew without a doubt that his best friend meant every word he said. Rose was a lucky girl, to have Sherlock, and Sherlock was lucky to have her, John was sure of it.

“I will make this right Rose, I promise,” Sherlock vowed. “John,” he asked, turning his attention to his friend. “Would you get me some tissues and a cool cloth?” He continued to soothe and reassure his sister that she was very much loved and wanted as he waited for John to return.

“Alright, time to dry your eyes,” Sherlock told her. Using the tissues, he gently wiped away Rose’s tears and dried her face. “Lean back against the arm of the sofa, I’m going to put this cool cloth over your eyes. They look very sore.”

Rose did as he asked and closed her eyes so he could put the cool cloth over them. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I love you.”

Sherlock smiled, despite her inability to see it. “I know you do,” he replied, kissing her cheek. “And I love you as well. I’ll make certain this is resolved, you have my word. Just rest, let me take care of everything, Rosie.” He held onto her tightly for several minutes as she began to relax and finally fell asleep. Removing the cloth from her eyes, Sherlock carried her into his room and tucked her into the bed.

“I’m going to murder my brother,” he told John emphatically when he returned to the sitting room.

“Well, you’re likely the only person I know who could actually get away with murder… if your brother wasn’t the British government,” John pointed out. “You might want to rethink that plan.”

Sherlock scowled; how he hated it when John was correct! “Horribly mangle him then.”

“That gets messy,” John quipped. “Mrs. Hudson won’t want pints of blood spilled all over in here.”

“I’ll mangle him elsewhere then,” Sherlock decided.

This time, John actually looked up from the newspaper he’d been reading. “You’re not going to throw Mycroft out the window, are you?” he asked in all seriousness. “I don’t think Lestrade is going to let that slide a second time, considering Mycroft isn’t a “house breaker.””

“Oh, _do_ shut up John. You’re ruining my fun,” Sherlock retorted darkly, flopping into his chair. “And yes, I’m seriously considering doing just that. His remark was cruel and served no purpose other than to hurt her, and in that he very much succeeded! Oh, I know she’s quite good at getting him worked up, and vice versa, but he has never lashed out like that. The reason for it is irrelevant, however. He is twice her age and should have been able to control himself.”

Sherlock reflected on the matter for several minutes before hurrying downstairs to see Mrs. Hudson and directing her not to let Mycroft up under any circumstances. Once he had her agreement, he returned to his flat to plot the slow, horrible murder of his brother.

Several hours later, Rose was awake and a bit more cheerful, or at least attempting to be so. She recruited John to help her clean up the kitchen, lightly scolding her brother about all the body parts stuffed in places around the kitchen. “Disgusting Sherlock, truly. Try and disinfect… well, everything would you, John? I’m certain we’d all like to eat this evening, but that won’t happen until all the nasty bits are put away.”

Sherlock laughed loudly. “Nasty bits, hmm? Some respect for science you have, young lady! Those nasty bits could save a man from decades of unjust incarceration.”

“Or they could completely contaminate our dinner and kill us,” Rose retorted in a huff. She flashed Sherlock a smile, to assure him she was teasing, before thanking John for his help and ushering him out of the kitchen. After popping her ear buds in and turning on her ipod, Rose set about to make what she hoped would be an impressive dinner.

Sherlock watched her, utterly fascinated by the level of skill she demonstrated. “She couldn’t do that before she left,” he told John. “It was a miracle she could make tea and spaghetti all on her own. This is one of the moments that makes me think she really has matured since her disappearance. Then there are moments like the tea pot throwing, which was completely justified in my opinion, that are evidence she is not yet ready to be on her own. Oh, she managed, clearly, on her own while “adventuring” as she calls it, but there is a world of difference between essentially backpacking through Europe and being a successful adult in London. Rose is nearly there though, I’m sure of it.”

The note of pride in Sherlock’s voice made John smile. “She seems to be a very special girl. It’s unfortunate what happened today with Mycroft.”

“It is. I hope he understands how badly he hurt her,” Sherlock murmured. “Despite today’s events, I am very relieved to have her back. It was a bit frightening, imagining her out there all alone, with no one to watch over her.”

As the two friends talked, Rose began humming along with her music, and before long, began singing a song that gave Sherlock pause, causing both men to stop and listen.

“Come to me, my melancholy baby,” Rose sang, unaware she had an audience or even that she was singing aloud and not in her head. “Cuddle up and don’t you be blue…Smile, my honey dear, while I brush away each tear. Or else, I shall be melancholy, too.”

The sound of clapping that accompanied the end of the song startled Rose, causing her to drop the spatula on the floor. Pausing to stop her ipod, she then picked the utensil up and tossed it into the sink.

“Wow, that was really great,” John said appreciatively.

Sherlock, however, said nothing, instead getting up to enter the kitchen and hug her tightly. “That was lovely, Rosie,” he whispered in her ear. “Sadly, I think you sang it much better than I ever did when trying to get you to sleep.”

Rose laughed and pecked his cheek before turning back to the food. “Your singing capabilities weren’t the important part, Sherlock. The fact that you did it was.”

“ _You_ sang lullabies?” John asked, looking slightly bewildered.

“Not a word to another living soul, John Watson. Not. A. Word,” Sherlock commanded.

“And in any case, Melancholy Baby isn’t really a lullaby,” Rose added. “But it was soothing all same. Sadly though, Sherlock was no Dean Martin, but he…” She suddenly stopped speaking and the color began draining from her face while John coughed uncomfortably.

Sherlock turned to see what had bothered Rose and discovered Mycroft standing in the sitting room. His eyes narrowed and he advanced on his elder brother. “Leave. Immediately.”

“I’m here to apologize,” Mycroft said quietly. “I want to speak with her Sherlock.”

Both Rose and John gasped as Sherlock’s fist connected with Mycroft’s face and sent him to the floor, blood spattering everywhere.

 

 

 


	4. Making It Work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be more spankings coming, promise! Probably in the next chapter even.

“Sherlock!” Rose shouted. “My god, what did you do that for?!” She rushed to Mycroft’s side but was gently ushered aside by John, who was now in full doctor mode.

“He hurt you terribly and that was wrong,” Sherlock explained in a dull tone.

“So you break his _face_?”

“No, no, not the whole face. Definitely the nose and Mycroft is out cold,” John interrupted. “He’ll need to go to hospital and get an x-ray. You’ve got a hell of a right hook Sherlock. Poor Mycroft is going to be very colorful looking in a few hours.”

“Is everything alright dears?” Mrs. Hudson asked sweetly, appearing in their doorway. “I heard a thud and… Oh my.” She sighed. “Sherlock dear, is that your brother on the floor?”

“Yes, it is, and Sherlock broke his face,” Rose grumbled shaking her head.

“I thought for a moment Sherlock might be shooting the wall again, but since there was only one loud noise, I decided to come up. Is he going to be alright?” Mrs. Hudson asked. “Should I call an ambulance?” She bent over the oldest Holmes, tutting a bit.

“Shooting the wall? You _shot_ the _wall_?” Rose asked, turning a dark look on her brother. “Oh, aren’t you one to talk! Scold me for throwing a tea pot when you shoot walls?”

Sherlock groaned. “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson,” he ground out. “I was trying to relieve boredom between cases.” His tone clearly implied that such a choice should not only be obvious, but make complete sense.

Rose lightly smacked his arm. “You’re a bloody idiot, you know that?”

“Help me get Mycroft downstairs,” John directed his friend. “And into a cab. He’ll be fine, but he needs an x-ray just to make certain he’s alright.”

“Don’t you think you’re exaggerating things a bit?” Sherlock asked.

“You knocked him to the floor and he’s lost consciousness,” John pointed out with a scowl. “So no, I don’t think I am. And perhaps an ambulance is for the best. I don’t think he’ll be pleased to see any of us when he wakes up. Please, do call Mrs. Hudson.”

The landlady hurried downstairs to call an ambulance and a short time later, Mycroft was on his way to the hospital. After spending a few hours in the emergency room, the eldest Holmes was discharged with a packed nose and returned home. It had never felt emptier than it did that night.

\-------------------

‘Are you alright?’

‘Do I sense some concern, brother? M’

‘It’s Rose. Got worried.’

‘I’m happy to hear from you. M’

‘You didn’t answer my question.’

‘I have a very colorful face today. Keep getting sympathetic looks. M’

‘What do you tell people?’

‘Tripped over the rug. M’

‘LOL. Not very original. I need a mobile; Sherlock will have a hissy about me using his.’

‘Your account at the bank is still open. And what does “LOL” mean? M’

“Give me that!” Sherlock growled, snatching his mobile back.

Rose rolled her eyes and huffed, leaning back on the couch. “If I invite Mycroft over for a talk, are you going to attempt to break his face again?”

Now Sherlock was the one doing the eye rolling. “You’re ridiculously over dramatic. I did not attempt to break his face. I was trying to express what an arse he was for what he said to you.”

“Duly noted. But you’re thirty-one. Use your words, Sherlock, like a big boy,” Rose replied, attempting to sound stern.

“My way was much faster and more pleasurable,” he ground out through clenched teeth.

Rose sighed softly. “Hitting him didn’t make me feel better.”

Sherlock’s eyebrow quirked.

“Ok, maybe it did for two minutes, but he’s my brother. _Our_ brother. If Mycroft and I don’t talk about what happened, what he said, it’s going to become this huge cavernous divide between he and I and nothing will ever be the same,” she explained quietly. “And there was little point to my coming home if all it does is make you two fight even more than you already do.”

“Mycroft and I have never gotten on well together, and that started long before you were born,” Sherlock admitted. “Don’t try to fix us, it won’t work. And stop sounding so grown up and mature. Makes me feel… old. And that is unpleasant.”

Rose laughed softly, getting up from the couch to help herself to Sherlock’s lap as he sat in his chair. “I am trying. I did learn some things while I was away; even if I still throw things at people who vex me. Oh, and I need my passport back. My legitimate one,” she commented before pecking his cheek.

Sherlock gave her a stern look. “Out of the question.”

“I’m not planning on leaving, but I need identification or the bank won’t issue me a new card for my account. All the other IDs I have are fake names. Like my Luxembourg driver’s license. I can drive a stick shift now!” Rose grinned, quite proud of her achievement. “But my account isn’t under the name Nora Charles and I need a mobile since you won’t share yours.”

“You make a valid point. However, I’m not giving it to you,” Sherlock said firmly. “I will remove it from my deposit box at the bank, hand it over to whomever will issue you a new card, and then it will go straight back in the box.”

“It’s a crime to keep someone’s passport from them, you know,” she pointed out with a sigh.

“I’m quite sure, given your history, that Lestrade will ignore you completely if you attempt to report me,” Sherlock retorted.  “Let’s go to the bank, shall we?”

\---------------------------

There were noises everywhere, accompanied by the inane chatter of lesser intelligent beings. Considerably lesser intelligence from the sounds of it. Ring tones, giggly teenagers, blasting music with indiscernible lyrics, electronics scattered everywhere in the most obnoxious array of bright colors.

“ _How_ did this happen?” Sherlock hissed. “This is like hell on earth. There is too much stupid in this building and it is unbearable.”

_Twenty Minutes Prior_

John pressed the buzzer in his office to connect him to the surgery’s reception. “Will you send in the next one please? Thank you.” At that exact moment, his phone vibrated and John checked it to see a message from Sherlock.

‘Will you take Rose to find a mobile? SH’

‘I’m at surgery.’

‘Later then? SH’

‘No.’

“No?” Sherlock read aloud in disbelief. “What does he mean “no” ?”

‘Why not? SH’

‘Hate shopping. And she’s your sister, not mine.’

_Present_

“How did this happen?” Rose repeated. “I need a mobile and you refuse to share nicely, but you’re afraid to let me out of your sight or that of someone you trust. Also, John said no. How does any of that confuse you?”

Sherlock glared darkly at her. “Insufferable brat. Go find a mobile, quickly, so we can leave before my brain cells start committing suicide.” He watched Rose shake her head and wander off before finding an employee. At least they were easily discernible in their bright red shirts and name tags.

“I want to put my sister on my mobile plan,” he told a young man named Stan. “And I want this process finished as quickly as possible. Also, I would like to know the capabilities of the GPS locator in whatever mobile she selects, specifically how well I can track her with it.”

Stan stood there for a few seconds before answering. “You want to track her mobile?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Yes, obviously, that is why I asked. I want to be able to chart her everywhere she goes, if that is possible.”

“Probably, but isn’t that kind of, like, borderline stalker behavior?” Stan asked, eyeing Sherlock suspiciously.

“Yes, yes it is,” Rose confirmed as she joined her brother. “He’s slightly paranoid because I have a habit of wandering off on occasion.”

“As in wandering to other countries unannounced,” Sherlock added.

“Um… Ok. Right,” Stan said slowly. “Let me check you out, and get this phone added to your plan sir. I’ll also provide you with some brochures about this model’s features that you might find useful in your… uh…”

Rose laughed. “I think the phrase you’re searching for is “stalkerish activities,” yeah?”

“Oh just hurry up!” Sherlock snapped at Stan. “And Rosenwyn, _do_ shut up.”

“Pay him no mind at all, Stan,” Rose said, giving the employee a dazzling smile. “It’s really not you, Sherlock just hates people in general and is chronically incapable of being polite.”

\------------------------------

‘Got a mobile! It’s Rose by the way.’

‘Sherlock took me and had a hissy at the store. Quite humorous.’

‘I’m sorry to have missed it. M’

‘Should we talk, or something? Like adults I mean.’

‘I think it would be best. Would you like dinner out? M’

‘Yeah, sure! Come ‘round and fetch me at 7.’

\--------------------------------

The one nice thing about his club, Mycroft reflected, was that no one was allowed to speak. Therefore, no one was allowed to question him about the few stitches on his forehead or the multitude of purples and reds that was his face. Silence was a most wonderful thing indeed, particularly when accompanied by some very expensive brandy.

And then his phone vibrated. ‘We need to talk. No, I won’t hit you again. Probably. SH’

Forsaking the large lounge where gentlemen read their papers or books in complete silence while enjoying a variety of liquors, Mycroft greeted Sherlock at the front door of the club and motioned for his brother to follow him. There was an office within the club that Mycroft often availed himself of to which he led Sherlock, where they could speak without disturbing the mandatory silence in most of the building. He typically used the office to talk with John, who was more likely to actually answer him and come then Sherlock. Not that he really gave John a choice.

Sherlock’s face took on a look of abject horror when he caught sight of his brother’s face. “John was right! You have a very… colorful face today.”

Mycroft’s eyes narrowed. “Please tell me you are not interrupting my time here to come examine my face and see how badly you damaged it.”

“No, that is not why I’m here. I’m here about us, and Rose. We need to work out this… dysfunctional and untraditional type of co-parenting sort of arrangement we have,” Sherlock said firmly, taking a seat in a plush arm chair.

Mycroft took the seat opposite him and nodded. “I’m listening.”

“Firstly, you simply must make it up to her for what you said yesterday. She was devastated. Rose isn’t like us, Mycroft. We can shut off our emotions as need be, or even shove them away for good for long periods of time, but she can’t. Rose is very much like mother. Or at least when mother was in better health, that is. Free spirited. Sensitive,” Sherlock explained.

“And you wish me to be more sensitive?”

“To work on it, yes. Or all the reasons why we love her will disappear and so will she, again,” Sherlock said quietly. “And maybe she won’t come home next time. Ever.”

The thought was a sobering one for Mycroft.

 “We both need to work on our relationship with her, I believe, but you in particular. I am not just being judgmental here, Mycroft, I’m speaking quite earnestly, out of concern for Rose and not because I think I am any better of a sort of parent-like figure than you are…”

Mycroft’s eyebrow quirked.

“Alright, alright, so I think I do better at it in some aspects than you do,” Sherlock admitted with a scowl. “But I only say that because Rose has confided in me. Apparently I’m very comforting, or something.” A slightly bewildered look crossed his face as Sherlock described himself as ‘comforting.’

“And what has she chosen to confide in you?” Mycroft was beginning to feel very uncomfortable with this entire exchange, fearing on some level that Rose had confessed she hated him.

“You don’t hug her anymore.”

Mycroft bristled. What kind of accusation was that? “So she sat on your lap and gave you these wide, begging eyes and said ‘Mycroft is so mean! He won’t even hug me anymore,’?” he asked, doing an imitation of a whiny teenager.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “No. I asked her why she came to Baker Street when she returned to the country, rather than go with your men in the car to see you, knowing either way she’d be in serious trouble for disappearing. Aside from the fact that you have a cane and have used it, which I do _not_ approve of, by the way, she told me she came to Baker Street because at least she knew I’d comfort her afterwards.”

Instead of feeling picked on, as he had been just a moment ago, Mycroft now felt confused. Comforting? Was that really such a problem? She kept saying she was an adult and had long ago grown past the stage where she needed to be cuddled after being disciplined. Hadn’t she? He had stopped accepting cuddles around eleven or so. Isn’t that what everyone did when they started to grow up and near their teenage years?

“Yes, Mycroft, but she’s not like you. She’s a girl and a sensitive one at that,” Sherlock stated.

“I hadn’t asked a question or even say anything out loud!” Mycroft explained.

“You were thinking very loudly. It was becoming irritating, so I interrupted you in order to lead you more quickly to the appropriate conclusion,” Sherlock responded, sounding irritated.

“Alright, I’ll work on it,” Mycroft snapped back. “And the co-parenting issue?”

“Rose told me you had agreed to let her move into the empty flat next door, prior to her throwing the tea pot at you. Which, by the way, if you punish her for, I actually _will_ “break your face,” as Rose says. You deserved that and the broken nose for saying what you did. You had better make that up to her and mean it Mycroft,” Sherlock threatened.  “Are you still willing to allow her to do so?”

“If it keeps her from running off again, yes, because at least she’ll be nearby one of us. We can keep an eye on her that way,” Mycroft explained. “Why?”

“When she moves in then, I think it is only appropriate that I become the main disciplinarian. As much as I would like to think I won’t need to take her over my knee again, we both know that it will happen at some point. If she is next door to John and I, it’s my rules and I do the disciplining when she breaks them. Though I will keep your concerns in mind, provided they aren’t ridiculous,” Sherlock offered. “Is that an arrangement you can live with?”

“Yes, I believe I can. Though I still want to be involved, I’m not shedding all my responsibilities, but it does logically make more sense for you to set the rules since she’ll more or less be living under your roof, in a manner of speaking,” Mycroft agreed.

“Excellent,” Sherlock said. “I’ll take my leave.”

“Tell Rose to dress up, we’re going out to the very best restaurant in town,” Mycroft said. “And if she doesn’t have suitable clothing, make sure that is taken care of.”

With a nod, Sherlock left the club to return to Baker Street.

‘Molly, I require your assistance. My sister is in need of some sort of evening wear and presumably make-up. Will text you her size. SH’

\------------------------------------------

Never had Molly Hooper been so delighted as when she’d received that text from Sherlock, asking _her_ to help! Within forty-five minutes she had arrived with three dresses, three pairs of shoes, a purse and make-up, ready to loan them to Rose who just happened to be about the same size. There were all sorts of annoying giggles and girl chattering and talking of shopping dates, almost to the point of being beyond endurance. Sherlock was sure he’d never been so relieved to see Molly leave as he was just now.

John arrived back at the flat shortly after Molly left, having been kept at surgery later than usual. He found Sherlock had turned his chair towards the bathroom and was watching his sister rather intent, his hands steepled. Following Sherlock’s gaze, all John saw was Rose in her brother’s robe, applying make-up and fixing her hair.

“Something wrong?” he asked. “Want tea?”

“Yes. And I’m… gathering data,” Sherlock answered, never averting his eyes.

“What kind of data? She’s getting ready to go out, that’s not mysterious you know,” John pointed out.

“She’s singing again. I’m trying to deduce whether the lyrics are some sort of musical news bulletin I should be aware of or not,” Sherlock responded.

“I’m looking for trouble. I’m going to throw the book away. Be unpredictable from day to day, in every way I can,” Rose sang, blissfully unaware that she was being very intently scrutinized by her brother.

“Sounds fine to me, just a song Sherlock. Not everything is something you need to deduce.” Knowing Sherlock was unlikely to take his opinion seriously, he went into the kitchen to make some tea.

“I’m gonna find me a lover, wear him with pride. One who can show me a real good time,” Rose sang.

“Rosenwyn!” Sherlock thundered. “That’s obscene!”

Rose put down the eye shadow she’d been looking at and turned to face Sherlock. “I haven’t even put on the dress yet, how do you know whether it’s obscene or not?”

“Not the dress! That song, it’s obscene. You shouldn’t be singing about… about…” Sherlock huffed. “About lovers! Frankly, it’s disgusting,” he informed her.

Rose looked completely confused for a moment before bursting into laughter. “Oh my god, you are a very strange duck, you know that? Seriously strange.” And naturally, just to be contrary, she began singing that very song again from the beginning.

“Rosenwyn Aramantha, I will confiscate your ipod if I hear anymore music of that nature coming out of your mouth!”

Rolling her eyes, Rose picked up the eye shadow, singing the lyrics in her head rather than aloud.

“Stop that! You’re singing it again,” Sherlock said, scowling darkly.

“How did you know?!” Rose turned to look at John. “He still does that? That ‘I know what’s going on in your head’ bit and accusing people of thinking too loudly?”

“All the time,” John confirmed.

“I ought to rethink moving next door, he’s going to turn this place into a madhouse,” Rose muttered, not meaning a word of it. “Or, at the very least, it’s going to be a very interesting adventure.”

 

 

 


	5. Reaching Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit short, but there's a big long one coming up. Stay tuned!

Rose was a bundle of nerves as she waited for Mycroft to arrive. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea. What if he got angry with her again and said something terrible? Or would he behave himself since they’d be in public? That was her hope, at any rate. The true underlying issue, Rose reflected internally, was whether or not he would ever be happy with who she was.

 “You’re fine just as you are, you know,” Sherlock commented. He looked up from the book he was reading and gave her a bit of a smile. “Though it certainly wouldn’t hurt if you were better behaved,” he stated with a wink.

“That really never stops being sort of creepy,” Rose said, giving him a smile in return. “But thanks just the same. Is it ever strange being able to interpret what people are thinking at times?”

“Often it’s rather annoying, because most people are alarmingly stupid,” he admitted. “It does have its usefulness though. And I don’t interpret, I deduce.” Sherlock looked up when he heard footsteps on the stairs. “Mycroft,” he greeted, giving his brother a significant look. “I do believe Rose is all ready.”

“Better put on a coat, it’s a bit chilly out,” Mycroft advised his sister. “You clean up well.”

“Your face!” Rose exclaimed. “Wow. Just… wow.” She scowled at Sherlock. “See what you did? That is not nice. Shouldn’t hit your brother, you know.”

An eyebrow quirked. “Just brothers, or should I not assault people in general?”

“Just brothers,” she confirmed. “Take it on a case by case basis with the general public.” Rose retrieved her jacket and left the flat with her oldest brother.

After opening the door for her, Mycroft got in on the driver’s side of the car. The air was almost crackling with tension as he pulled away from the curb, prompting him to let out a sigh.

“I like your car. It’s new, yeah?” Rose asked.

“Very, six months. I don’t drive it very often; the tube or cabs are usually more convenient.”

“I know how to drive now. I can drive a manual transmission too. I learned while I was staying in Luxembourg, a friend taught me.”

Mycroft frowned. That hadn’t been a destination he’d have thought Rose would be interested in going to.  “What was there? I mean, what made you go there?”

“That was what made me go there. I didn’t really know anything about it, so I thought, why not check it out? Can’t use that license here though, it’s not under my real name. I’ll have to test here as well. Then again, I don’t have a car so perhaps there’s no point,” she admitted.

“You’re not practicing in this car, let me tell you,” Mycroft hurriedly told her. He could envision the chaos already.

She fell silent after that and he couldn’t help wondering if he’d managed to say something wrong already. Why did raising girls have to be so complicated? It really wasn’t fair. It also made him reevaluate any plans to potentially marry or have children of his own; he wasn’t entirely convinced he could survive another teenager. “Ah, here we are. Baker Street is rather centrally located,” he said. “It’s valet service as well.”

She stepped out of the car and waited for Mycroft to give his keys to the attendant so they could walk into the restaurant together. Within just a few minutes they were being escorted to their seats.

 “I think we need some rules for this meal,” Rose said quietly, after they sat down. “We have to try and really listen to each other and we cannot say anything hurtful. And if you do, I will pour my drink on you and leave. I don’t have to sit there and listen to you tell me hurtful things again.”

“That’s fair,” Mycroft agreed. Their server stopped at the table just then, inquiring about drinks. He selected a white wine from the list and was more than a little surprised when Rose indicated she would take the same. He didn’t say anything, but his eyebrow quirked and he gave her pointed look.

“Or, you know, coffee would be better instead. And cream, please,” Rose decided, blushing a bit.

“I wasn’t aware you drank,” Mycroft murmured.  

 “On occasion, not regularly. I am legal age for it.” Her tone was a bit defensive.

“I’m not criticizing you. Though I would hope you exercise caution and do not drink yourself into a state where you blackout and end up who knows where,” Mycroft admitted. “You seem very defensive.”

Rose frowned. “Wouldn’t you be, after what you said yesterday? I’m willing to talk with you and try to work this out, but it’s going to be a very long time before I forget what you said. That was so hurtful and I don’t think you really grasp that, not fully.”

When their drinks arrived, Rose fixed her coffee and Mycroft seized the opportunity to speak. “You’re right, I don’t know how that made you feel, not truly,” he admitted. “I very much regret saying what I did. It was completely out of line, said in the heat of anger, and not the least bit reflective of my true feelings of you Rose.”

“I don’t know if I believe that. I can’t be what you want me to be, Mycroft, because that’s not who I am. I’m not a politician or an aspiring lawyer, or whatever else you want from me. I have a hard enough time being me I can’t be someone different for you. I’m very out of place in this world so much of the time and that’s difficult, especially when I can’t seem to fit into my own family.” The words came out in a bit of a rush, as if Rose was trying to get everything out before she could forget it, or could be interrupted.

Mycroft nodded, looking thoughtful. “I’m not sure I follow you, Rose. Can you expand a bit? Why do you say that you’re out of place?” It had been a very long time since she’d been so open with him and he began to realize that Sherlock was right. He had been too distant and Rose hadn’t felt she was able to come to him because she felt he wouldn’t listen or didn’t understand.

“I just don’t fit in with, well, almost everyone,” Rose responded. “I’m almost twenty, but I’m well ahead of most twenty year olds in terms of education so I have a hard time relating to them and their life experiences, because I went through all those stages a long time ago that they’re going through now. And I don’t really fit in with anyone who is older than me because of the age gap and the lack of life experiences that they have and I don’t. It’s hard to be so in-between, too old for people my age, too young for people on my level academically.

“And you never seem to support the things I like about myself: my dancing, my hobbies, potential career paths, the friends I do have. None of it. You are always so disapproving of me and I make myself miserable trying to do what you wanted me to do. And that’s why I left, because I was so unhappy.” By this time, tears had gathered in her eyes and Rose attempted to blink them away.

For a few minutes that seemed to last an hour, their table was silent as Mycroft tried to digest everything Rose had told him. Finally the server arrived to take their food order and then left once again. Mycroft had no idea what to say or where to begin, so he reached out and took her hand, squeezing it gently.

“We all have to make our own place in this world,” he finally said. “It’s not easy, and we all go through the process that you’re experiencing now, and have been experiencing for a few years,” he admitted. “And it was never my intention to make that process more difficult or to make you feel as if who you are, as a person, was not good enough and therefore unable to fit into our rather dysfunctional family.”

“We’re very dysfunctional I think,” Rose interrupted, giving him a tiny smile.

“I’ve never been unhappy to have you,” Mycroft continued. “You confuse me very, very much sometimes, because you are so different from Sherlock and I. I’m not always certain that I make the right choices where you are concerned. What I am certain of, is that you are the only thing that unites the three of us as a somewhat dysfunctional family. Do you realize that? The only time Sherlock and I ever cooperate about anything at all, or even attempt to, is when you are involved because we care about you far more than we care about being contrary with one another.”

Rose sighed. “Now see? That’s a lovely thing to say. So why did you say something so terrible to me, if you didn’t even mean it? That doesn’t make sense.”

“I cannot answer that, because I truly don’t know,” Mycroft answered truthfully. “I was angry and lost my temper.”

“Not good excuses-”

“I know. I could also blame it on a long and difficult day and a multitude of other things, but I’m not going too,” Mycroft assured her. “Because you’re right, none of those are good excuses. I was angry though, I think I have been very angry since you left, and since you came back. Somewhere along the way I’ve lost you and that is a difficult thing to deal with. Again, not a good reason to be cruel, but I can’t offer you a reason that isn’t there that might be easier to hear.”

She studied him for a moment before sipping her coffee. “I don’t follow. And please don’t frown at me; I’m not trying to be difficult. But I lost me, or disappeared me… neither of which is grammatically correct, but what I mean is that I chose to leave. Or is that not even what you’re referring to?”

Mycroft sighed and down a large swallow of his brandy.

“I know this isn’t easy for you,” Rose said quietly. “To talk about this; about me; about feelings in general. But I need you too. I can’t compartmentalize things the way you do.”

“I know, and that’s why I struggle with you sometimes,” he admitted. “Because I’m not certain that I’m doing what you need me to, or being what you need me to be, especially when it comes to sentiment. What I mean, specifically, is that I believe I started losing you a while back, before you left. I don’t know why it happened and I have no idea how to fix it.”

Rose smiled. “And that’s the part I’m good at. Fixing, speaking, and all that mushy stuff you aren’t good at. I don’t expect you to do things that aren’t at all you, but I miss the way we used to be, when I was younger. When you told me you loved me on a daily basis, even if it wasn’t always in words. I need you to do those things again and I…”

She took a deep breath to steady herself. “And I need to know you haven’t stopped caring about me because I’ve done something wrong that I didn’t even know I did. We’re not the same and we haven’t been in a long time. What did I do?”

Her willingness to accept the blame for the distance that had grown between them, prior to her vanishing act, touched Mycroft more than he could express. But he tried, all the same. “To put it in the most simplistic terms possible, you grew up. You started getting older, Mother passed on, and I don’t know anything about girls.”

Rose let out a giggle, which she tried to cover with a cough when Mycroft’s eyebrows rose. “So sorry. Please continue.”

“I mean little girls, or rather, you as a little girl,” Mycroft clarified. “No one tells you how to parent, Rose. No book can ever explain adequately how rewarding and difficult being a parent can be. While I know I am not your actual parent, I’m the closest thing to it that an older brother can be. And if there’s no adequate book to understand parenting, let me assure you there is no book at all that even mentions being the older brother raising a little sister much younger than himself.”

“So what you’re saying is its trial and error and always has been?” Rose asked.

“Essentially, yes. I’ve worked it out as I’ve gone along. Sometimes I’ve done well and other times I’ve done poorly. And girls are so much different than boys. Not that Sherlock is normal by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s a very different dynamic. You’ve always needed a lot more than I even thought you did and think, in an effort to try and let you grow up and not be cosseted, I pulled away too much. Since then, things have gone slowly downward until you disappeared,” Mycroft explained.

“You know, that actually makes a lot of sense. And please don’t think that I ever thought, or do think now, that you don’t love me. I know you do and I know you want good things for me. But I need more than your good intentions, yeah? Together, we need to work on getting closer again, like we used to be. We need more talking like this, and we need more affection in general. You might be ok without it, but I’m not,” Rose confessed.

Mycroft nodded, looking thoughtful as he considered her words. “I would very much like us to be close again. I cannot promise things will be a bed of roses, but what I can assure you is that I don’t want to us to be estranged.”

Rose stood up and hugged Mycroft tight, kissing his cheek before resuming her seat. “And that is just what I was hoping to hear. I won’t expect you to be perfect, I promise. We just have to try, the both of us. Now, where did that server go because our food is taking forever and I really might just expire any minute if it doesn’t come soon!”

“Never have outgrown that over dramatic streak, have you?” Mycroft chuckled. A part of him, though he would never admit it aloud, hoped she never would.


	6. A Study in Chaos

 “She’s not answering my texts,” Sherlock said, stalking back and forth across the sitting room.

“Sherlock, sit down. She’s with Mycroft, it’s not as though he’s going to murder her in a restaurant. Or anywhere for that matter,” John responded. “You can’t hold her hand all her life.”

Sherlock scowled. “We should have gone with to make sure everything went alright. It’s been two hours; she should be back by now.”

John shook his head. “No, we made the right choice Sherlock and you know that, even if you are worried. I’m sure she’ll be back soon and tell you all about how it went. If it had gone badly, she would have returned long ago,” he pointed out.

“Who would have returned long ago?” Rose asked, entering the flat.

“You’re back!” Sherlock exclaimed. He looked Rose up and down, searching for signs of distress.

“Yes, I am and I’m fine,” Rose confirmed. “Just fine.”

“Was Mycroft an idiot?”

“Mycroft tried very hard to make things right,” she assured him. “Very hard. I won’t forget what he said, not for a long while, but I think he and I understand each other a little better though. Still couldn’t convince him that dancing was a profession.” She sighed as she said that. “But at least we’re talking about it rather than dismissing that. Baby steps.”

“See? We didn’t need to worry after all,” John told Sherlock, giving his friend a smile.

“You were worried too?” Rose asked.

John nodded. “Yeah, I suppose I was.” He laughed when she hurried over to him and gave him a hug. He returned it, squeezing her close before letting her go. “Tell us all about it, yeah?”

“Let me change first. I made it all through dinner, all three courses in fact, and didn’t get anything on Molly’s dress! I want to keep it that way,” Rose said with a smile. She disappeared into Sherlock’s bedroom and changed back into her casual clothing.

“You’ll have to tell us later,” Sherlock told her when she reemerged. “We’re off to Albert Court. We’ve got a case!” He held up his phone. “Man stabbed to death, cryptic message written on the wall in blood. Brilliant!”

“Sounds seriously gross. Good luck with that,” Rose replied. She watched the two men bundle up a bit against the chill in the air and followed them out onto the steps. “Be safe out there, alright? I expect you both to come home in one piece!”

Sherlock merely waved her off and hurried down the stairs, nearly running into Mrs. Hudson.

“Oh, Sherlock, I-”

“Not now, Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock replied, rushing out the door. John followed suit, leaving the elderly landlady standing in the entry way.

“Oh, Rose, hello dear. I’ll have that lease ready for you in a few days,” Mrs. Hudson stated, looking up at Rose.

“Sounds good,” Rose responded. “I heard you trying to catch Sherlock. Is everything alright?” She headed down the steps, intending to make certain Mrs. Hudson was ok.

“Well, I had a package come for him earlier. He wasn’t here and it just slipped my mind until I heard him on the stairs,” Mrs. Hudson explained. “Would you take it up?”

Rose accepted the package from the landlady, looking it over. “This is rather creepy,” she murmured, examining the address, written neatly in pen but bearing no name, and then the Baker Street address. It was clearly meant for Sherlock, but his name and address were cut out letters from magazines. “Looks sort of serial killer creepy. And it smells funny,” Rose commented. “Does Sherlock get a lot of strange packages?”

“Oh a few here and there, usually connected to whatever he’s working on at the moment,” Mrs. Hudson confided. “That’s why I tried to catch him; might be important.”

“I think you’re right. Albert Court is in Kensington, right?” When Mrs. Hudson confirmed it, Rose used her phone to look up the sender’s address. “That’s right across the street from where Sherlock was going. I bet it’s related!” Rose gave the woman a smile. “I’m going to rush over and make sure he has it.”

Heading back into the apartment, Rose threw on her coat, grabbed her wallet and haphazardly laced up her sneakers before running out of the building, frantically waving at the first cab she spotted. “Albert Court, Kensington. Please hurry,” she instructed, sliding into the back seat.

Ten minutes later, Rose stopped the cab a block away from where several police cars were parked. “You probably won’t be able to get closer, this is fine,” she assured the driver. Exiting, she paid the fare and headed towards the building in question. It was surrounded by squad cars, crime scene tape, and part of the street was blocked off.

Rose carefully made her way towards the building, side-stepping any tape and watching to make sure she didn’t disturb anything that could be evidence on the lawn. Strangely enough, none of the officers around their cars seemed to notice her at all. She was just about to the front door of the building, which was slightly ajar, and Rose could even see Sherlock through one of the windows. She grimaced, realizing that blood was spattered all over said window. “Gross.”

She spotted movement out of the corner of her eye and froze for a moment. Was it the killer? Slowly Rose turned around, only to spot a smartly dressed women in a pair of impractical high heels. Must be a reporter, she thought. Then the woman began speaking in an obnoxious tone. “Excuse me! Hello? Excuse me!”

“Yes?” Rose answered. “I’m a bit busy now, and reporters probably shouldn’t be this close to the building.”

 “This is a crime scene, you need to leave,” Sally Donovan ordered. She didn’t bother to identify herself to the young woman. “Leave immediately.”

Rose frowned at her. “I’ll be in and out real fast, not trying to steal your story or disturb anything, but I have something that might be relevant that I need to give to someone.”

“This isn’t a debate, get moving. Right now, off the property.” Sally’s tone was demanding, clearly expecting to be obeyed.

“I’m sorry, I can’t. I’m with them,” Rose responded, gesturing to the window. “And I need to give them something. I’ll be on my way, I swear, but this could be important.

Sally let out an undignified snort. “Really, and just who are you with? The medical examiner or the detective inspector?”

“No, no, no. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson,” Rose corrected.

“And what are you to them, some kind of assistant?”

Rose shrugged. “Sorta.”

 “The freak doesn’t have an assistant,” Sally stated firmly.

Rose scowled darkly. “His name is Sherlock Holmes, and I’ll thank you to use that name.”

“What’s it to you what I call him? He is a freak.”

“He’s my brother,” Rose ground out, her temper rising.

“Sister? He’s got a sister? Who in their right mind let that freak around children?” Sally asked.

Rose answered, by punching her in the gut. The woman doubled over and gasped for breath. “Don’t say things like that about my brother,” she told the woman sternly. “If you’re done with your hissy now, I’ll go inside.” She turned to start up the front steps towards the entrance but was stopped in her tracks when the woman spoke again.

“And… you’re… under arrest,” Sally finally managed to get out.

“Under arrested?!” Rose exclaimed and turned around once more. Instead of receiving an answer, the other woman began manhandling her, attempting to get Rose’s arms behind her back.

Having no idea at all who this woman was, Rose wasn’t going to let some stranger decide to handcuff her! Having no intention to go along quietly with someone who might be the killer for all she knew, Rose fought to get away and the situation quickly spiraled out of control as Sally fought to subdue her and Rose fought to get away.

 “I may be mistaken-” Anderson commented as he looked out the window from inside the crime scene.

“Aren’t you _always_ mistaken?” Sherlock asked.

Anderson rolled his eyes, but ignored him. “I believe Sally is being assaulted.”

“What?” Lestrade asked, crossing the room towards the window. “Anderson, what are you on about?”

Before Anderson could repeat himself, he jumped away from the window, pulling Lestrade along with him. Seconds later, two people fell through it, shattering glass all over the crime scene.

Seeing an opportunity to get Sally off of her, Rose had slammed against her with all of her might, and ended up putting Sally right through the window. Unfortunately, the woman had pulled her with equal momentum and both of them went through the window, hit the thick smears of blood on the floor below them and slid a few feet across the floor where they continued to struggle.

For a long moment, no one moved, including Lestrade who could only stare as he watched Sally essentially cat-fight a random teenager, proceeding to get the blood evidence all over themselves. Uncertain at first whether to attempt to save the crime scene or separate the women, he decided to separate them before they could ruin anymore evidence.

“Enough, that’s enough!” Lestrade shouted. John hurried after him, finally hauling Sally away and onto her feet as Lestrade pulled Rose onto hers. Lestrade took one look at her and said, “I know you!” He turned to Sherlock and said, “This is your sister, isn’t it? The one we were looking for that time and you led me to that big drug bust in a warehouse, right?”

“Oh my gosh, let’s _not_ talk about that,” Rose snapped. “Sherlock, I have…” Her voice died out as she spotted the look on her brother’s face. His mouth had become a grim line and his eyes were full of anger. She just knew he was struggling to keep from shouting at her in front of all these people and Rose suddenly wished very desperately that she could take back the last two or three minutes of her life. Sherlock was going to make her regret them very, very much, she could tell.

 “She assaulted me, she’s being arrested!” Sally shouted.

“Who is this lady?” Rose asked, gesturing with her head in Sally’s direction. “I have something important I need to give Sherlock, it might be related to the case! She wouldn’t let me in and then tried to arrest me and I never saw a badge or anything,” she pointed out. “Lestrade, let _go_ of me.”

“You just completely contaminated this crime scene, destroyed evidence, and assaulted Sergeant Donovan,” Lestrade told her. “Right now, you’re under arrest. We’ll sort this out in a bit when we’re done here. Which sadly isn’t likely to be all that long, thanks to you.” He handcuffed Rose, who began looking frantically at both Sherlock and John, the color draining from her face.

“I didn’t do anything! I didn’t know! I was trying to help!” she shouted. “Sherlock, don’t let him arrest me! Sherlock! John! Do something!”

It was John who spoke first. “Lestrade, I’m sure we can sort this out. Do you have to do that?”

Lestrade nodded. “I do. Like I said, we’ll sort it all out later. For now, I’m having an officer take her in.” He waved at one of the uniformed officers on the street, beckoning him inside. “Take her in, put her in my office. She doesn’t have to stay handcuffed as long as you keep her in my office. Make certain her clothing is bagged. She’s got evidence all over her,” he instructed.

“John, go with her,” Sherlock said quietly. “I’ll be along shortly.”

Rose kept quiet as she was escorted from the building and put into the back of a squad car. She may have been silent, but she was trembling and tears were running down her face.

“No, don’t cry,” John said as he got in beside her. “We’ll sort it out. Lestrade’s a good man, we’ll sort it out. Are you scared?”

She nodded, beginning to sob, though she attempted to hide it from him.

“No need to be scared. I’m right here with you, I’ll stay with you, and Sherlock will follow us soon.” Now really wasn’t the time to be scared, John thought to himself. She’d probably be better off saving the tears for when Sherlock got hold of her!

“Promise you’ll stay?” Rose asked pitifully. “I don’t want to go to jail, I wasn’t trying to disturb anything I swear!”

“Promise. Come on, deep breaths. Try to relax,” John urged. “Deep breaths. There you go. Again. One more. Good girl. We’re almost there and I’ll make sure someone helps you clean up, too.” He was certain that having all that blood in her hair, on her clothing, and even smeared on her hands and face, wasn’t helping matters.

John stayed by her side as promised while the officer led her to Lestrade’s office. “I know you’ll need to get the evidence, but can we get a female officer to help her and get the process moving?” he asked the officer. “I’m not interfering, I promise, but she’s scared. My best friend’s sister,” John explained.

The officer agreed to find someone and left Rose and John standing in the office for a few moments before returning with a blanket and evidence bags. “This is Officer Gaines. She’s going to take you to the ladies room to get out of your clothes. We need to collect them because you have evidence on you,” the male officer explained to Rose. “I brought a blanket for you. She’ll take you to get the rest of the stuff on you collected and cleaned off, then bring you back here.”

Rose nodded, sighing in relief when the male office removed her handcuffs. “Are you coming?” she asked John. “Please?”

“Well, not in the ladies room,” John said, looking a bit embarrassed. “But I could wait right outside and go with you to get your face and everything cleaned up. That alright?”

“Yeah, that’s good. That’s what I meant,” she clarified.

“Try to walk very carefully, we don’t want to lose any evidence,” Officer Gaines instructed. “It’s this way.” She led Rose to the ladies room and helped her out of the clothing. Rose’s jacket, jeans and sneakers were bagged one by one. “Your shirt too,” the officer instructed. “I’ll try to find you something better than the blanket when we’re done.”

With a sigh, Rose surrendered her shirt and even her socks, standing there in just her bra and panties before wrapping herself up in the blanket. “Good job,” Gaines said encouragingly. “You’re doing alright. Not the first person to come in covered in evidence,” she admitted. “Let’s get you cleaned off.”

John gave Rose an encouraging smile when she emerged from the bathroom. “Good work love,” he praised, trying to reassure her. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

He followed Rose and the officer and stood off to the side as Gaines and a forensic specialist worked to collect the blood evidence from her face, hands and hair. Once they had collected what they could, Rose was able to get washed up. It was such a relief to not have blood on her body anymore!

By the time Rose and John returned to Lestrade’s office, both Sherlock and the detective inspector were waiting for them. “Guys, you couldn’t find her something to put on?” Lestrade complained.

Sherlock immediately took off his coat, handing it to his sister. “Go put that on instead and come straight back.”

Rose disappeared with the coat and returned a moment later, snuggly buttoned up tight. She was glad to have the coat, rather than the blanket, which had made her feel more exposed, even though everything was covered up. There was just something not right about running around in a blanket in public!

“Sit down,” Lestrade instructed her, indicating a chair in front of his desk. He sat as well and watched her as she fidgeted in the chair, feeling quite sure the squirming under his stern gaze would do her some good. When three full minutes of silence had uncomfortably passed, he began talking.

“I have no idea what happened tonight,” Lestrade began. “Other than I have a compromised crime scene and contaminated evidence, which makes my job of finding the killer much more difficult.”

“Don’t exaggerate, you contacted me after all. If you had been able to figure it out on your own, you wouldn’t need me,” Sherlock pointed out in an exasperated tone.

“Alright, alright. It makes the eventual court case much more difficult then,” Lestrade amended. “And you’re facing several charges of your own right now, for that whole debacle. So why don’t you start explaining what happened.”

Rose took a deep breath and began to recount the events. “Mrs. Hudson had a package for Sherlock, but he rushed out to come help you tonight and didn’t get it from her. It was a really weird looking package and the return address on it was from right across the street. We thought it might be important, related to the case. Mrs. Hudson says that’s happened before, Sherlock getting strange mail related to cases.”

“And where is this package?” Lestrade asked.

“The inner pocket of my jacket, which is currently in a bag.”

Lestrade called in an officer to go retrieve the envelope from the jacket and bring it back to him. In the meantime, Rose continued.

“So I got a cab and came right over. I was just going to go inside and give it to Sherlock and leave. Trust me, I want nothing to do with that nasty messy… stuff Sherlock helps you with,” Rose assured them. “But when I was trying to go in, this woman stopped me before I could get up to the front door. She didn’t tell me who she was, she wasn’t dressed like an officer, she was just a bossy lady who wouldn’t listen to what I was trying to tell her. I actually though she was reporter or something.”

Lestrade sighed heavily. He really needed to talk to Sally about remembering to ID herself at crime scenes, particularly _before_ she tried to arrest someone. “That was directed at Sally, not you,” he admitted to Rose. “Go on.”

“I told her I was with Sherlock and she said some very nasty things about him that I couldn’t ignore. Just couldn’t. He’s my brother and I love him,” Rose said firmly.

“I can imagine what she said,” Lestrade admitted.

“So I punched her in the gut. And then she tried to get my hands behind my back and cuff me and I was all ‘What the hell?’ because I still didn’t know who she was. I don’t let just anyone handcuff me,” she pointed out.

“Does that mean you allow _some_ people to handcuff you?” Sherlock asked in a dangerous tone.

“Well, yes. If a police officer, that was properly identified or in uniform, tried to handcuff me, I wouldn’t fight him or her. I didn’t fight Lestrade, even though I didn’t think I’d done anything wrong,” Rose retorted. “I was scared, there’s this strange woman trying to wrestle me and handcuff me, so I fought back! Then we fell in the window and you all know the rest.” She shuddered, remembering all the blood she’d been covered in.

Lestrade ran a hand over his face and sighed as he attempted to find a way to sort this mess out. Just then the male officer returned with the package Rose had brought with her to the crime scene. “Does look a bit off,” Lestrade admitted.

“Looks serial killer,” Rose contradicted. “Not just a bit off.”

“Well, let’s get this open then.” Lestrade put on a pair of gloves and carefully opened the package. Inside the envelope was an overabundance of pink glitter and a letter, also written with the cut out magazine letters like Sherlock’s address had been. He scanned the letter quickly and then passed it to Sherlock. “This belongs to you. And is unrelated to the case.”

“It is?” Rose asked, her eyes wide. Had she seriously just gone through all this mess and gotten herself into a world of trouble over something not related to the case? “But it’s from a criminal, it has to be.”

“No,” Sherlock said dully. “It’s a fan letter.”

“Seriously?”

“Unfortunately,” he assured her.

“You get fan letters with… glitter. Why?” Rose asked.

Lestrade supplied the answer while Sherlock mumbled something. “Your brother is quite famous these days. Mostly through helping us with some high profile cases and from John’s blog about the investigations as well.” He chuckled when she looked completely confused.

“You’re some sort of celebrity now, and get fan letters? Like actors and everything?” she questioned.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Sherlock confirmed. He hastily put the letter through the shredder in Lestrade’s office.

“But it looked like a serial killer letter,” Rose protested. “I can’t believe you get fan mail that looks like it came from serial killers!”

An eyebrow quirked. “The words “serial killer” and “fan” are not linguistically exclusive of one another,” Sherlock pointed out.

“And even when they don’t look like something a murderer would send, there are still some very strange letters and packages that show up at Baker Street,” John added. “You should read the fantasies in some of them about Sherlock and that hat.”

Lestrade laughed so hard he made a snorting noise. “That I’d love to see!”

“Unfortunately for you, I shred the more pornographic ones,” Sherlock muttered.

Rose turned wide eyes on her brother. “You get pornographic letters? Some of which are more pornographic than the others? Do you keep the lesser pornographic letters?”

He shrugged. “On occasion, when I suspect the sender is likely to commit a crime in the near future.”

“That’s just gross. I’m sorry, no offense, but that’s gross. Women send pornographic letters to you that involve your hat. Consider my mind officially blown and _not_ in a good way,” Rose decided.

“Mind blown?” Sherlock repeated. “What does that even mean? That must be some sort of figure of speech, since that would be impossible; your brain is clearly still functioning. At least to a certain extent.”

“Well, as much fun and games as this is, we’ve got some problems to sort out about you, young lady,” Lestrade stated, ushering everyone back to the business at hand. “Why don’t you step out while we have a chat about what to do with you.”

Rose sighed and stood up to leave. “Please just keep in mind, I really wasn’t trying to do anything wrong. I thought I had something important that would help Sherlock, otherwise I would have stayed home. I’m also really sorry for all the trouble I caused.”

Sherlock nodded and waved his hand towards the door and the three men waited for her to leave.

“I think she’s being truthful,” John said. “She was terrified on the ride over here, just shaking. I felt awful for her.”

Lestrade nodded. “I agree. Sally should have identified herself properly and this whole mess would have been avoided. Not all the blame can be laid on Rose, but she’s not blameless either and there’s a whole list of charges that could be brought against her. But I have an idea…”

It was nerve wracking, standing out there while knowing her fate was being discussed in that office. Was she going to jail? Would she be fined? More importantly, was Sherlock going to tell Mycroft? God, Rose hoped not. Though Sherlock hadn’t looked pleased either, she was forced to admit.

After ten minutes of discussion, during which Rose rocked back and forth on her feet, overwhelmed by anxiety, Lestrade waved her back into his office.  “You, Rosenwyn Holmes, are a lucky young lady,” he began. “Sergeant Donovan will not be pressing charges against you for assaulting her. I will also not be pressing charges against you for tampering with evidence, destruction of property, or impeding a criminal investigation.” Lestrade read each charge slowly, watching her squirm even more and blush a brilliant shade of red.

“These charges, however, are not being dropped without an exchange of sorts. I could use some help around here. Nothing terrible, just filing and picking up lunches or coffee orders, little things that I don’t presently have someone to do for me,” he explained. “Provided you are willing to donate one hundred and fifty hours of volunteer time, we will all forget this ever happened.”

The relief was overwhelming. She wouldn’t be going to jail! “That’s very fair,” Rose agreed. “Thank you so much. I was so scared.” She took a deep breath, allowing herself to relax a bit.

Lestrade nodded.  “Sherlock is a friend and a great help on my investigations, so I’m willing to do this for his sake.” That and he doubted Sally wanted it made a part of her official record that she had her arse kicked by a mere slip of a teenager.

“And because I quite like the idea of a personal assistant. You’re smart; you don’t act like it, but you are. I think you’ll learn a lot while volunteering, and I promise not to torture you _too_ much. I’ll expect you here, tomorrow, at 8am.”

“Make it a bit later. Rose and I still need to discuss some things and it will go late,” Sherlock commented.

Rose cringed. He said ‘discuss’ as in ‘discussion’ and she knew damn well that there would be very little talking, outside of scolding, during said ‘discussion.’ How she hated that stupid phrase of his! Though at least he hadn’t said. ‘I’m going to spank Rose when we get back to Baker Street and it’s already quite late.’ She was absolutely certain she would have died of embarrassment then and there in Lestrade’s office.

“Noon then. But just for tomorrow! After that I’ll expect you at 8am,” Lestrade agreed

“Yes sir, I’ll be here sir,” Rose rushed to assure him. “You won’t be disappointed, I’ll do my very best to assist you in any way I can. And again, I’m _very_ sorry for what happened.”

Lestrade nodded once more, accepting her apology. “I’m officially releasing you into Sherlock’s custody. Go home, rest up, tomorrow will be a busy day.”

The walk out of the building was a silent one. Rose was nervous and her gut churned in response. Sherlock was going to murder her. Either that or he would turn her over to Mycroft, which would be an awful way to end the night after having some real conversations at dinner.

“Did you tell Mycroft?” Rose finally asked in a tiny voice.

“No, but I’m certain he is aware of it, or will be. He’s always aware of things,” Sherlock responded. “I have no intention of handing you off to him, if that is what you’re asking. I’m more than capable of handling this evening’s events and I can promise you- It. Will. Be. Handled.”

Rose leaned her head back against the car seat and closed her eyes. Oh yes, she was in a _lot_ of trouble.


	7. Action and Reaction

It was nearly midnight by the time the trio returned to Baker Street. Rose trudged up the stairs to the flat, feeling resigned to whatever was going to happen. Sherlock wouldn’t hurt her, ever, but he could certainly make her life miserable; especially when it came to her ability to sit!

“Go shower and get ready for bed,” Sherlock instructed her. “You have thirty minutes and then we need to have our discussion.”

“Hate that phrase,” Rose grumbled in response.

“Now is _not_ the time to complain,” Sherlock told her, giving her bottom a smack. “Go.” He watched her go into the bathroom and then sat on the couch with a heavy sigh. “The very day I tell Mycroft ‘well she’ll be living next door, I’ll take care of everything’ _this_ happens,” he grumbled.

John chuckled. “No one plans in advance for what happened tonight. That was honestly one of the most bizarre evenings I think I’ve had since being discharged. Who knew you’d make my life so interesting?”

“You thought I would bore you?” Sherlock asked.

“No, no. You know what I mean, don’t purposely be obtuse,” John responded. “If you don’t need me down here for anything, I think I’ll head up and get some sleep.”

Sherlock waved him off and leaned back against the couch as he tried to decide what to do with his sister. By the time she’d emerged from the shower and told him she was ready for bed, he had a plan in mind. “I’ll be right in,” he assured her. Before heading into his room to deal with her, Sherlock went into the kitchen first, looked through a few drawers and finally located a wooden spoon. This called for more than his hand and John had already gone to bed, so the hairbrush was out.

Rose was sitting on the bed when Sherlock entered the room, shutting the door behind him. As soon as she caught sight of the spoon, she let out a groan and flopped back on the bed.

“No,” Sherlock said firmly. “None of that. You know you deserve this, no groans or complaints because I’m not interested.”

She sat up and let out a sigh, half expecting him to tell her she couldn’t sigh either. Thankfully, he didn’t.

“We’re going to have an actual talk before our discussion,” Sherlock announced, taking a seat on the bed. “I’d like you to explain why you’re being spanked.” He wanted to make certain she knew precisely why before disciplining her.

“I made a very epic mess at the crime scene and made everyone’s work a lot harder to catch the killer of that poor man whose blood was everywhere,” Rose said, shuddering as she remembered all the blood.

“Yes, that’s true,” Sherlock agreed. “I am aware that destroying the crime scene wasn’t done intentionally. I am much more concerned about the poor choices you made that enabled that fiasco to occur. What could you have done to avoid this?”

Rose looked thoughtful as she mulled over the night’s events. “Other than just not leaving the flat I don’t know,” she admitted softly. “I’m not trying to be difficult, but I don’t know what you’re looking for.”

“That’s acceptable,” he assured her. “You could have asked Sally to bring the package in. You could have text or called John or myself. You also had the option of approaching the uniformed officers in the street and asking one of them to bring it in. Those are the answers I wanted from you. Had you done any of those things, the crime scene would have remained intact. Unfortunately, you made no effort to stop and think of alternatives available to you, decided to brawl with Sally, and ultimately wreaked havoc.”

She blushed brightly, having not thought about those alternatives at all. This night would have ended so much better had she done so. “You know I’m sorry though, right?” Rose asked softly. “I really do feel badly about how things ended up, and not just because I’m in trouble now.”

Sherlock nodded. “I do. However, due to the ramifications of your lack of forethought this evening, you’re in a significant amount of trouble. First, you’ll be getting a spanking with my hand and then spend a bit of time reflecting in that corner.” He paused, pointing to an empty corner in the room. “Then I will use this to finish up.” This time he indicated the spoon.

“You are also officially grounded to this flat for one week, with the exception of your volunteer hours for Lestrade and any preparations for moving that need to be done with Mycroft. You will go in to volunteer and come immediately home. It should go without saying that I expect you to exhibit exemplary behavior,” Sherlock added. “If you need to begin packing your things, you will alert either myself or John and there will be no dallying anywhere else.”

Rose bit her lip to keep from groaning again. Instead, she silently hoped he was finished. Of course, he wasn’t.

“You will be spanked before bed while you are grounded, to encourage you to think things through. Your behavior during the day will influence how enthusiastic the spanking is,” Sherlock warned. “Is any of this unclear to you, Rosenwyn?”

“No, it’s not unclear,” Rose admitted. “But isn’t it a bit of overkill? Can we negotiate?”

Sherlock shook his head. “Need I remind you that you were arrested tonight, in addition to destroying the crime scene? And nearly faced charges for all the damage you caused? It is not “overkill.” Anything else you’d like to say?”

“No, that’s it,” she replied with a sigh.

Without a word, Sherlock pulled her closer to him and hugged her tightly. “I love you,” he whispered in her ear. “I’m very certain we won’t ever have a repeat of this nonsense.”

“I love you too,” Rose assured him, returning the hug. “Hold me for just a minute, ok?”

Kissing the top of her head, Sherlock murmured in the affirmative and cuddled her for several minutes before letting her go. “It’s time to move on to the implementation phase,” he decided. “It’s getting very late. Pajama bottoms down and over my knee.”

Rose stood up and pushed her pajama pants down to her knees before bending over Sherlock’s lap. Her panties were pulled down and he wrapped an arm around her waist. The spoon was toss off to the side, at least for the moment, and then Sherlock’s right hand came down sharply across the middle of her bottom.

Rather than pepper her bottom with random swats and eventually cover the area completely with firm smacks, Sherlock adopted a different strategy. He began spanking her right cheek, swatting it repeatedly from crest to sit spots until it was blushing pink. Moving on to the left cheek, he repeated the process until that side was also becoming pink. Then it was back to the right side to start over again.

By the time he had returned to the right side for a second time, Rose was beginning to squirm over his lap and let out little noises of discontent. She would be significantly more discontent by the time he was finished, Sherlock reflected.

As he returned to the right side for a third time, Rose began to kick and cry. “Sherlock! Please! Owww! Stop, stop!” she pleaded. A firm “No,” was the only verbal response she received. The heat in her backside grew to an intolerable level and the stinging was becoming more and more intense, making it practically impossible for her to keep even reasonably still.

Just when Rose was sure he’d never stop, Sherlock did just that. Her cheeks and sit spots were bright red, sore and radiating heat. Carefully he pulled her panties and pajama bottoms back up and helped her off his lap. Immediately he stood up and hugged her tightly, letting her cry against his chest.

“You’re alright,” Sherlock tried to soothe her. “It’ll be alright. Cry as much as you need too.” One hand rubbed up and down her back, encouraging her to calm down a bit. While she still had corner time to complete before he could finish entirely, Sherlock had no intention of making her do so until she’d received some comfort.

When her tears were more under control, he kissed the top of her head and hugged her even tighter before saying, “Corner time now. Nose right in the corner, no talking and no rubbing.”

Rose made a whining sound in response but did as she was told, walking over to the corner he’d indicated and putting her nose right in it.

Ten minutes ought to be enough, Sherlock thought. He sat on the bed once more and waited as the minutes ticked slowly by. Picking up the spoon, he weighed it in his hand, debating how severe to be with it. Finally the time came and he called her out of the corner.

“Time to finish up. Back here, over my knee,” Sherlock instructed. He watched her wipe a hand across her face before coming to him and pushing down her pajama bottoms once more before going across his knee.

“Will you be able to keep your hands out of the way?” Sherlock asked gently as he bared her bottom once more. “I don’t want to smack them with the spoon by mistake.”

“Not sure,” Rose admitted.

“Do you want me to hold your right hand then?”

She nodded and put her hand back. Sherlock took it, squeezed it encouragingly, and held it against her side.

Seconds later he began spanking her once more, this time with the spoon. “Owwww! No no no!” Rose called out, squirming right from the start. “Sherlock please!”

Her brother didn’t respond, focusing instead on the task at hand. The spoon left pink oval marks in its wake as he peppered her sit spots and upper thighs with sharp smacks, and her cheeks were given some attention. Sherlock planned to give her a few dozen, but when Rose began sobbing after sixteen hearty smacks, he couldn’t bring himself to keep going.

Tossing the spoon in the direction of the bedroom door, Sherlock once more fixed her clothing and then helped her up from his lap. This time, he settled her on his lap and did his best to keep pressure of her bottom as he hugged her tightly. “Good girl, brave girl,” he praised, beginning to rock her slightly. “All over now, and you did so well. I love you Rose.” He continued to speak soothingly to her, even if she couldn’t hear him over her tears.

Rose pressed her face against his shoulder and continued to sob, the sound of it like a knife to his chest. How he hated being the one to make her cry! Eventually his soothing ministrations worked and Rose calmed down, her tears becoming sniffles.

“You look so tired,” Sherlock murmured. “I bought you a present earlier.” He pointed across the room and Rose followed his gaze, seeing a lie-low all set up for her.

“I like your bed better,” Rose said, giving him a tiny smile.

“That’s unfortunate,” he teased.

“Don’t let me go yet, please?” She looked up at him, her eyes begging him to hold onto her for longer.

“No, I’m not going anywhere,” Sherlock hurried to assure her. “I’ll tuck you in when you fall asleep. For now, just try to relax and close your eyes.”

Rose closed her eyes and let his gentle rocking soothe her even more and before long, she was fast asleep in his arms. Sherlock kept hold of her for several minutes after that, making sure she was asleep before finally getting up to tuck her in, before falling into his own bed.

\----------------------------

She slept soundly through the night on the lie-low and likely would have slept for some time if a knock on the door hadn’t woke her up.

“Whaaaat?” she groaned sleepily.

The door opened to reveal John. “You should get up. I’ve got breakfast for you in the kitchen.”

Rose only murmured in reply, but did get up and grab Sherlock’s dressing robe before making her way to the kitchen.

“How are you?” John asked, concern evident on his face.

“Sleepy.”

He laughed. “I can see that. Not quite what I meant though.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “I’m not sitting to eat. Does that answer your question?”

John nodded and began filling a plate for her. “It does; about what I suspected. Will you live?”

“Yes, mores the pity,” Rose said, reaching back to rub her sore bottom. “It’ll be a long day though.”

John put her plate on the kitchen island and kissed the top of her head. It was nice having someone shorter than he was around! “You’ll pull through, you’re a brave girl. I’ve some arnica cream I’ll let you use later on. Doctor’s orders; Sherlock can live with it.”

Rose giggled and rewarded him with a bright smile. “You know, you’re very loyal very quickly John Watson. But speaking of my brother, where is he?”

“St. Bart’s. Molly got in some more bodies for him to play with,” John said. “I was told to remind you that you’re grounded, so come straight back after Lestrade sets you free for the day, yeah?”

She shook her head. “I’ll have to pop into a store first; I no longer own a jacket. Don’t think I want it back when they’re done with it either.”

John frowned. “No, you’d best come straight back. I’ll take you after, or Sherlock if he’s done.”

“That’s really silly; come all the way back on the tube, just to go out again to an area I just left to get a jacket? Silly,” Rose declared.

“I’ll be stern with you if I have to be, miss. Come right back and one of us will take you. If you don’t, I’ll be very displeased,” John warned. “You get yourself in enough trouble as it is; give yourself a break and do what I say, alright?”

Rose sighed but nodded. “Jawohl, herr Kommandant,” she agreed with a little sass, adding a salute.

“Captain,” John corrected with a chuckle. “And you’re incorrigible. Now eat up, I need to send you on your way shortly and then get to the surgery for my shift.”

\------------------------

At ten minutes to noon Rose knocked softly on Lestrade’s office door and entered the office when he waved for her to do so.

“Well, well, look at you!” Lestrade said with a smile. “Miss Rosenwyn, not just on time but ten minutes early. I’m impressed.”

“Rose, please,” she said, shaking her head. “No one calls me Rosenwyn unless I’m in trouble.”

Lestrade chuckled. “Alright, Rose it is. And since you don’t officially work for me, you can call me Lestrade, or Greg, whichever you prefer. Now, how long can I keep you? Are you due back at any special time?”

“No, just whenever you set me free for the day,” Rose responded.

Lestrade nodded. “Perfect. I’ve got a big stack of paperwork for you to type up, and we’ll see how that goes. There’s even a desk for you to work at.” He gestured to the empty desk just outside his office. Rose sat down very gingerly at the desk, her eyes going wide when he plopped the papers down on the desk.

“Now these are pretty straightforward. Each document becomes a separate Word doc that you’ll print and bring to me.” Lestrade pointed out the printer and continued. “Anything that’s stapled together, keep it all in the same Word doc. Save all the docs on this flash drive. Let me know if you have any questions, alright?”

Rose nodded, taking a deep breath. “I will.”

“I’ll be in my office then.” He gave her a smile and went back to sit at his desk and do some of his own paperwork. Lestrade kept a good eye on her as she worked, and couldn’t help noticing her inability to sit still for any length of time and the way she eased herself oh-so-gently onto the chair after each time she’d been up.

“Rose, come in here a minute and bring the ones you’ve printed with you,” he finally called, waving her in. “Shut the door behind you as well.”

She got up quickly and hurried into the office, handing over the printed documents. “Did I do something wrong already? I’ve been so careful,” Rose commented, her tone filled with worry.

“You’re doing just fine,” Lestrade assured her with a smile. “Good, quiet worker, nice attention to detail.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “Was Sherlock pretty hard on you last night?”

Rose blushed bright red and fell silent.

Lestrade took her silence as a confirmation of his question and didn’t want to embarrass her further by asking anything else. “Alright, I’m going to switch it up a bit. I think those can wait until tomorrow or another day. I’ve got some filing I need done in here that I’ll have you do instead, alright? Bring me the flash drive and the ones you haven’t finished first,” he instructed.

She went back out to the desk, ejected the flash drive and carried it and the stack of papers back into his office. Lestrade promptly dumped them in a box and shoved it under his desk, pulling out a different box. “These need to be put in alphabetical order in the file cabinets. A’s start at this one,” Lestrade pointed to the one furthest away from the desk. “And work their way around. I’ve got a couple more boxes full too. You’ll have to stand for a while to do this; that alright?”

Rose flashed him a smile. “Oh, very much so. Thanks.”

“Alright, back to work with you then.” Lestrade waved her in the direction of the cabinet and returned to his paperwork once more.

The afternoon passed fairly quickly as Rose worked on adding the files into the cabinets. Every so often she found some out of place and re-alphabetized what was already in the cabinet before adding anything new. She worked quietly and efficiently, finishing the entire first box just after 4pm.

“Nice work,” Lestrade complimented her. “Time for coffee though; I’m sending you off down the block to get it. The stuff here is borderline disgusting on a good day,” he admitted. Giving her his order, he handed over a ten pound note.

Rose frowned a bit. “I know my way around coffee drinks, and I don’t think yours will be more than four pounds at the very most. Do you have something smaller, or do you need the change?”

“Ten pounds will buy yours and mine,” Lestrade told her. “I reward hard workers, so get yourself whatever you’d like, on me.

“Wow! Thank you. You’re sure? Alright, don’t frown at me,” Rose laughed. “I’ll be back as quick as I can.” Exiting his office, she asked if anyone else wanted something and left with four additional orders to fill. The shop was easy to find and they had the drinks ready fairly quickly and provided her with drink trays to make carrying everything easier.

“Coffee’s up!” she called on her return. “Everyone’s cup has a name.” The drink trays were place on someone’s desk and the officers lined up to collect them, while Rose brought her own and Lestrade’s into his office.

“Perfect,” Lestrade murmured after taking a drink. “If you’re not too tired, I think I’ll keep you until six. I’m going to keep track of what days you come in and how many hours you’re working.

“Six is fine,” she assured him. “I’ll get back to that filing. Thanks for the drink.” Rose returned to work, and had finished another half of a box by the time six rolled around.

“Alright, I’ve had enough for the day. We should get out of here before someone gets killed and I have to stay late,” Lestrade announced. “Need a ride back to Baker Street at all?”

“That’s a nice offer, but no thanks. I’ve got some errands to run, so I’ll take the tube back. I need a new jacket since you took mine,” Rose admitted. “This one is a spare John loaned me and it’s just too army looking for me.”

Lestrade nodded. “Alright then, off you go. I’ll see you at 8 tomorrow.”

“I’ll be here,” she promised. “Have a good night!” Rose headed out of the building and walked down the street, debating on whether or not she should just take the tube home like she was supposed to, or stop in somewhere and replace what had been kept as evidence. Then a different idea came to her.

‘Can I go to Mycroft’s and pick up some clothes?’

‘No. SH’

‘I need clothes!’

‘You’re grounded from the world. SH’

 ‘From the world? What does that even mean?’

‘It is an emphatic no. SH’

Rose growled and decided to text Mycroft. ‘I need clothes and Sherlock has grounded me from the world.’

‘The world is sighing in relief. M’

‘You can’t see it, but I’m sticking my tongue out at you right now.’

‘I really need to come get clothes from your house.’

‘I’ll pack some up for you and drop them off. M’

‘That’s a bad idea. Really bad in fact.’

‘Why? M’

‘I’d rather not say…’

‘Should I be frightened? M’

‘Possibly. Coming over. Sherlock can’t ground me from the entire world.’

Mycroft rolled his eyes and decided to extricate himself from Rose’s dramatics. After last night, she was lucky Sherlock hadn’t hired a minder for her!

‘She’s coming to collect clothing. M’

‘I’m going to horribly murder her. But let her get what she wants. SH’

‘I’m just thrilled she wears clothing in public, unlike you. M’

‘You’re never going to let that Buckingham Palace incident go, are you? SH’

‘Highly unlikely. M’

As her brothers texted back and forth the girl in question took the tube to the station near Mycroft’s house. Walking the few blocks from the station, the large house came into view, taking her breath away for a moment. She hadn’t been here in a long time. Was the security code still the same? Just as she was attempting to disarm the system, the front door opened.

“Sherlock knows you’re here, by the way,” Mycroft stated. “But come in and get some clothing for yourself. What are you hiding in your room?”

Rose rolled her eyes and hurried up the stairs. “Nothing of great importance. A girl needs privacy though.” She promptly slammed her bedroom room in his face and gathered up her clothing, including the more revealing items and undergarments that would have given Mycroft a heart attack had he discovered them.

After stuffing as much as she could into two empty boxes, Rose opened the bedroom door and found Mycroft standing just outside it.

“Just to set my mind at ease- are you alright after last night?” Mycroft asked, handing her some packing tape.

“Is that a polite way of asking if Sherlock attempted to murder me?” Rose asked. “I’m alright. Sherlock was… displeased. But I wasn’t injured by the whole scuffle. Though I can’t say I wasn’t pleased when I found out that Sally Donovan was put on paid leave.”

Mycroft smirked at her.

“That was you?” She asked, her eyes wide. “Lord, you really _are_ running Britain, aren’t you? That’s slightly frightening, but reassuring at the same time. But thanks for that, makes my volunteer time much easier. I should be off.”

“You cannot carry those large boxes yourself and take them on the tube. Let me drive you back,” Mycroft offered.

Rose smiled and eagerly agreed, relieved she wouldn’t have to try to juggle those boxes alone. She chatted with Mycroft a bit about what she’d been doing for Lestrade that day, passing the ten minute drive pleasantly.

“I’ve got them, no worries. Thanks for the ride!” Rose gave him a wave before hefting the boxes into the building. She didn’t get far into the building before she ran into something, unable to see very well thanks to the boxes. Only it turned out not to be a something, but rather a someone, who took the boxes right out of her hands.

John placed them on the floor and pushed them off to the side before standing up to his full height, crossing his arms over his chest, and stared her down.

Rose gulped. “You’re home early,” she said carefully. “I thought you were at surgery until eight.”

“And you were counting on that, clearly,” John said sternly. “You were told to come straight back here after Lestrade dismissed you for the day, by Sherlock and by me.”

“I needed clothes and Sherlock was uncooperative,” Rose replied quietly.

“I told you this morning that if you came right home, I’d take you to get some things, didn’t I?”

“Yes… but-”

“No, miss. No buts, except the one that’s about to get smacked.” John pointed up the stairs to their flat. “Get upstairs now; I’ll bring the boxes.”

Rose scowled darkly, putting her hands on her hips. “No, John. You can’t do that.”

“Oh yes, I can and will. You’d best start cooperating. Last chance to go up the stairs on your own,” John warned.

“You wouldn’t dare!”


	8. The Dangers of Crossing John Watson

John shrugged. “Don’t say I never gave you fair warning.” He reached out and took Rose by the ear and began going back upstairs, forcing her to follow.

“Ow! Ow!” Rose yelped. “The ear is delicate, stop that. Ow, please!”

Despite what John was sure were very heartfelt protests, he refused to release his hold on her ear, using it to guide her into the flat and directly over to the couch. Releasing her ear, he sat down, and gave her a pointed look. “You deliberately disobeyed me. I was very clear this morning about what was expected of you; volunteer and come home, go nowhere else. And you chose to defy me and that, young lady, I will _not_ stand for.”

His tone was all Captain Watson now, not the soft-spoken John she’d come to know. This man meant business and Rose knew it as she stood there beside him, rubbing her abused ear.

“Over my lap immediately miss. We’re taking care of this right here and right now.” John looked at her expectantly and managed to hide his surprise when Rose did precisely what he said, leaning across knees.

“When I tell you to do something, you are expected to do it. Do you understand me?” John held on to her firmly, wrapping an arm around her waist.

“Yes, yes, I do, I promise!” Rose answered quickly. “Please don’t, I’m so sorry! Don’t John, please!” Her right hand went back to try and shield her bottom from any forthcoming smacks but John easily caught it and held it to the small of her back.

Despite his firm hold, Rose was squirming and wriggling already and he hadn’t even begun to spank her. All her efforts gained her was making her skirt ride up ever closer to her backside. John pushed it up and away from his target, raised his hand, and brought it down with a resounding smack across her backside.

Rose gasped, going still for a moment, until he swatted her again and she resumed her squirming. “Oww! Not so hard! Ow! I’m so sore, ow ow ow!” Three smacks fell in quick succession, one on top of the other. “Pleeeeeeease! I’ll be good, I swear!”

Already John could hear the strain in her voice but he forced himself to ignore that. He continued to soundly spank her cheeks, sit spots, and even gave her upper thighs a few good swats, causing Rose to let out a howl of protest.

It was at just that moment Sherlock walked into 221B. His eyes grew wide for a moment at the sight of his sister, upended over John’s lap, having her bottom soundly spanked.  “I’ve missed something, haven’t I?” That happened so rarely that he was quite taken aback by the realization that _he_ hadn’t deduced this concept prior to its occurrence.

“Bit busy here, Sherlock,” John pointed out, continuing to spank.

“Sherlock! Make him stop!” Rose shouted at her brother. “Please!”

“I have no idea what you did, but I’m certain John is being quite fair,” Sherlock said casually as he made his way into the kitchen. Certain they would all need some coffee shortly, he stared a pot of it.

John continued to spank, while Rose continued to cry and plead, until he could tell her cheeks were brightly red, even through her panties. After a few last hearty smacks to her sit spots, he stopped and released her hand.

Sobbing brokenheartedly, Rose pushed herself up from his lap and practically ran into Sherlock’s room, slamming the door behind her. John let out a quiet sigh as he watched her go, before turning his attention to Sherlock. “Look, I’m sorry if I went over the line. I’m not even quite sure where all that came from,” John admitted.

“I’m not concerned,” Sherlock responded, entering the sitting room. “Rose has that effect on just about everyone.”

The bedroom door opened and a pillow was tossed at Sherlock; it missed.

“Do you think I was too hard on her?”

Sherlock shook his head. “But you’re not done, are you?”

John gave him a quizzical look. “I’m quite sure her poor bottom couldn’t take anymore. In fact, I’m going to insist she use some arnica cream when she calms down. You can’t seriously be suggesting I go in there and spank her _more_.”

“John,” Sherlock responded with a great sigh. It was a sigh that clearly indicated John was, once again, not following. “Of course not, but you have to do the after bit now.”

“After bit?”

Sherlock nodded. “Hug her, rub her back, tell her she was very brave and that everything is forgiven, dry her face. The _after_ things.”

John looked thoughtful. “Will she let me comfort her?”

“I’ve never known her to turn it away and I’m not entirely certain she’ll ever look at you the same way again if you don’t at least try,” Sherlock responded quietly.

“Right,” John agreed. Taking a deep breath he went to knock on Sherlock’s bedroom door. He received no response and waited just a moment before entering anyway. Rose was curled up on her side, hugging a pillow, sobbing; the sight of it was like a punch in the gut and John hurried across the room.

“Oh love,” he murmured, kneeling beside the bed. John reached out gently to stroke her hair with one hand and wrapping his other arm around her in an awkward sort of hug. “Shhhh,” he soothed. “It’ll be alright. You’ll be alright Rose, I promise. You were very, very brave. I’m so proud of you for that.” When she continued to cry, John felt an overwhelming sense of guilt and doubt. Had he been too hard on her? Had he injured her?

“Rose, love, I didn’t injure you did I?” He was immensely relieved when she shook her head no. “Good. I would never intentionally do that, I hope you know that. That’s not the sort of person I am.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Rose repeated several times through her tears.

Despite her assurance that she wasn’t injured, John’s doctoring instincts weren’t entirely convinced. “On your stomach love, roll over,” John instructed. “I want to make sure you aren’t hurt and I’ll even make it feel a bit better if you let me check.”

She put up no fight at all and rolled from her side onto her stomach without so much as a word, which only made him even more worried. He’d never spanked anyone before, and he was starting to think he really had done too much.

John flipped her skirt up, cringing at how red her bottom looked even through her panties. “I’m going to take these down now. I’ll be as gentle as I can,” he assured Rose.  Moving slowly and carefully, John pulled her panties down and out of the way, unable to hide a wince as he did so.

“Oh love, you’re about spanked out, aren’t you?” he murmured, not really expecting an answer.

“Sherlock’s going to spank me later,” Rose replied through her tears. The thought of yet another spanking was very depressing, considering how much her bum hurt at that moment.

“Oh no he’s not,” John said firmly. “You’ve had enough for one day and I’ll set him straight on that.”

Rose finally turned her head to look at him. “What if he doesn’t listen?”

“Then he’ll have Captain Watson to deal with.” John gave her a wink and grinned for a moment. It pleased him to no end when she managed to give him a little smile in return. “I’m going to fix you up and then we’re having a cuddle. You were such a brave girl, do you know that?” He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

Leaving her bedside, John briefly exited the bedroom to locate Sherlock. “Get my kit, will you? She’s going to bruise, and badly, if I don’t do something. Fix an ice pack as well.”

Sherlock stared at him for a moment, looking absolutely horrified.

“It’s only to be expected,” John admitted. “After last night and today, it’s not surprising at all. She’ll be just fine Sherlock, promise. But I don’t think I could live with myself if I didn’t do something to ease it.”

“Ah. First do no harm,” Sherlock murmured.

“That and her tears are breaking my heart right now,” John admitted. “I don’t know how you manage to do this, I really don’t. Go get the kit and bring it in please, and then make the ice pack.” As Sherlock headed upstairs, John returned to the bedroom and knelt down by Rose once more.

“Let it all out love,” John encouraged her quietly. “Cry as much as you need to. I’m right here and I won’t let you go.” He kissed the top of her head before stroking her hair gently once more. “You’ll be alright, I promise. You’re a good girl, I know it love. A good, brave girl.”

Sherlock arrived with the kit a moment later and John located the arnica cream. “This cream is going to keep you from bruising too much and it should help all around,” he explained to Rose. “I’ll be as gentle as I can putting this on. Are you ready?”

When she nodded, he began to rub the cream on her sore bum, doing his best to be gentle about it. Still, she whimpered and squirmed and John felt like such a jerk for spanking her, even if she had deserved it. “Alright, that’s done. You were very brave,” he praised, putting the cream away. “Let me wash my hands, I’ll be just a second.”

By the time John returned, Rose had returned her clothing to its appropriate place and he wasted no time picking her up, ignoring the strain on his shoulder. He sat on the bed, leaned against the headboard, and settled Rose against him, wrapping his arms around her as tight as he dared. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding when Rose responded by snuggling close and resting her head against his chest.

The cuddling was quite effective and Rose’s tears gradually disappeared. “That’s my good girl,” he praised. “Feeling better now? Sherlock’s going to make an ice pack for you.”

 “I don’t think I like Captain Watson,” she murmured. “I like just John better.”

John chuckled and squeezed her tight. “Be good and I won’t have to have that tone again, yeah?”

“You’re good at this,” she decided. “It’s making it difficult to be mad at you. I should be, but I just can’t manage it.”

John blushed a bit at her compliment. “You don’t look very mad. I’m not even sure it’s possible for a person to be mad while having a cuddle.”

“It’s difficult, but I’m trying,” Rose quipped, sounding anything but upset with him. “I am not going to have fun volunteering tomorrow. I might have to bribe Lestrade.”

“I’ll put more cream on in the morning for you,” he offered. “If I let you go by yourself there and back, will you come home like you should?”

“I don’t have any reason not to now. I have clothes,” Rose pointed out. “Or I did. Where did those boxes end up?”

John laughed. “Not quite the answer I was looking for, but I’ll take it all the same. I’ll make sure Sherlock brings them up.”

A knock at the door caused both of them to look up as Sherlock opened the door. “Ice pack,” he said, holding it up.

“Alright, on your stomach again,” John instructed Rose. He was surprised to be slightly reluctant at letting go of her.

Rose complied, extricating herself from John’s arms to lie down on the bed, wincing as Sherlock placed the ice pack on her bottom. He sat down beside her and rubbed her back. “Will you live to misbehave another day?” he teased.

“Yes, unfortunately for you,” she retorted. “And this is all your fault you know.”

“Oh really?” Sherlock asked, an eyebrow raised. “Do tell, sister dear.”

“You grounded me from the world and I needed clothing.”

John burst out laughing. “You grounded her from the _world_? What does that even mean?”

“That’s what I said,” Rose giggled.

“It means she’s confined to just plaguing us and Lestrade with her presence for another six days,” Sherlock said. “And you’re lucky John got hold of you before I did.” He leaned over to kiss the back of her head, lessening the lightly scolding tone. “I told you not to go to Mycroft’s.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “I get it, I get it. So sorry I didn’t want to be naked. Besides, you couldn’t have gotten angry with me for that anyway.”

Sherlock let out a huff of disbelief. “Oh do tell, Rose. Explain this logic of yours.”

“You said I was grounded with the exception of preparations for moving in next door,” she began. “And today, at Mycroft’s, I prepared for moving. I took items from my old bedroom, put them in previously empty boxes, and sealed them with _packing_ tape. Therefore, I was packing, which was an allowed activity per your own specifications.”

His eyes narrowed dangerously. “That was an unintentional loop hole,” Sherlock grumbled.

“She’s got you there,” John laughed. “That doesn’t happen often; let me savor this moment. I might even want to mark it on the calendar so we can celebrate it yearly.”

“Oh, I like that! Let’s do it,” Rose agreed with a bright grin.

“Oh _do_ shut up John,” Sherlock replied indignantly.

\----------------------

The following morning, Rose walked into Lestrade’s office carrying two coffees from down the block. “Early again, nicely done. One of those for me?” Lestrade asked, giving her a grin.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “But it’s not a gift, it’s a bribe.”

Lestrade laughed, shaking his head. “You do know it’s illegal to bribe law enforcement officers, yeah?”

“Yes and no,” Rose told him. “Yes, it is illegal, but only in certain instances. I cannot bribe you in exchange for privileges in prison, as a way to evade charges, or in any function that may give me something of value in relation to criminal activity. But, lucky for you, I’m quite innocent of any wrong doing. Today, anyway.”

“So far?”

“That’s _very_ unkind Greg,” Rose said, unable to stop from laughing. “I will give you this very lovely drink, which I know you like very much, in exchange for not making me sit down today. At all. For any reason.”

“Done.” He reached for the drink. “Going to tell me why? I thought you had resolved to behave yourself for a bit.”

Her face flushed. “John and I had a disagreement yesterday. It ended badly... for me.”

Lestrade leaned back in his chair, grinning. “Really now! Didn’t see that one coming,” he admitted. “That explains why John sent me a text this morning, asking me to make certain you’re escorted home this evening. I was wondering about that.”

“You look far too interested in this for my liking, Detective Inspector,” Rose retorted, raising her chin defiantly. “There seems to be a collective of people forming that delight in the trials and tribulations of my life.”

“Now, now, don’t get defensive,” Lestrade said, holding his hands up in surrender. “Just remember, I’m the one that you just asked not to make you sit down today. I could change my mind you know.” He was teasing, just to see what she’d say.

He wasn’t disappointed. Rose looked outraged and said “I bought you coffee! You wouldn’t! No, wait, wait, don’t say anything. I take that back. I don’t think I’m going to say things like that anymore, it never ends well.”

Lestrade laughed again, shaking his head. “Those are very famous last words. That what you said last night?”

“Yes. John did indeed dare. I was not pleased,” Rose grumbled.

“I’ll put in a good word for you before I send you home today,” Lestrade promised. “On with the filing, if you would be so kind.”

She promptly stuck her tongue out at him before getting to work.

\----------------------

‘Why are you in a police vehicle? M’

‘Hello to you too. Getting a ride home from volunteering.’

‘Just checking. M’

‘I actually can manage to go an entire day without causing trouble, you know.’

‘Please do let me know when that occurs. I’ll arrange for medical personnel to be standing by. M’

‘What?’

‘To restart my heart so I don’t die from the shock of it. M’

‘I never should have given you my mobile number.’

‘I would have gotten it anyway. Hardly a challenge. M’

‘Don’t be creepy Mycroft. Alert the cavalry, I’m home now.’

\--------------------------

Several hours later Sherlock and John trudged back to Baker Street, completely exhausted. Sherlock had managed to find a lead on Lestrade’s case, despite the issues with the evidence, and the two had staked out a club where their suspect was due to work that evening. Unfortunately, they looked so out of place that the suspect, already rather high-strung, was immediately suspicious and fled on foot. They pursued, running around London for the better part of an hour before managing to get their hands on the suspect and subdue him. Or rather, John subdued and Sherlock called Lestrade.

“You know, we should bring Rose if we ever do that again,” John pointed out as they headed towards their building. “She wouldn’t have looked out of place at all and could’ve been our eyes and ears.”

Sherlock scowled and held the door open. “That’s a horrible suggestion. She could be hurt. Or become intoxicated. Or someone might make a pass at her and then I would be forced to disembowel said person. That gets messy.”

“Did you ever use that GPS on her mobile to see if she stayed home?” John asked curiously.

“No need. I trust her. Besides, she doesn’t want Captain Watson around again,” Sherlock replied with a smug look on his face.

John laughed and headed up the stairs. Sure enough, Rose was on the couch, curled up under a blanket, reading.

“A note about the severed hands in the fridge would have been nice,” she complained to Sherlock.

“What did you do with them?”

“They’re in a crisper tray. Its disgusting Sherlock. I can’t wait to have my own fridge!”

Sherlock smirked. “More storage space for experiments.”

“Not a chance,” Rose retorted. “Anything gross in my fridge will get tossed. And I mean at you, not in the garbage.”

“Hmm,” Sherlock replied. He went straight to the fridge, assessing the state of the severed hands. “There’s a dish in here.”

“Did you cook?” John asked.

“Yes, you beastly boys. Slave away making lasagna for you and don’t even bother to come home. Or text. Why am I the only one who has to account for her whereabouts in this… Whatever it is?” Rose asked seriously.

“Because you’re the only one grounded from the world, that’s why,” Sherlock quipped.

“And we’re very proud of you for coming right home,” John added with a smile.

“Yes, because it was so uncertain that I would make it. I only had a ride from Lestrade after all, that you requested for me.” She stuck her tongue out at John, who merely responded by kissing the top of her head.

“No! No! Back in the crisper Sherlock! Or just toss them out. That’s so disgusting,” Rose yelled.

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock did as she asked. “Hard to believe we’re related, given how squeamish you are. No sense of adventure. Or appreciation of science.

“If all body parts are out of the fridge, or at least out of sight, I’ll warm up some food for you both,” Rose offered.

“Now that’s what _I_ appreciate,” John said. “Warm food.”

For all his complaining of her squeamishness, Sherlock hugged Rose close when she entered the kitchen. “Don’t forget we’re having a discussion this evening.”

“No food for you,” Rose immediately responded.

“Go easy on her Sherlock, I mean it.” John warned firmly.

“Better behave Sherlock, or Captain Watson will get you,” she snickered.

“No, Captain Watson is reserved for incorrigible brats such as you. And do not worry yourself John, I’ll take care,” Sherlock promised.

“Is this really going to become a joke now, my rank? I’m not sure I appreciate that,” John said, shaking his head.

“We need all the weapons we can against the level of mischief she gets up to,” Sherlock replied with a straight face. “Ow!”

Rose smirked. “So sorry, didn’t mean to pinch you. Now, you two eat, I’m going to shower and get ready for bed since you’ve both returned safely.” She kissed Sherlock’s cheek before exiting the kitchen.

\-------------------

When Sherlock knocked on the bedroom door a short time later, Rose was curled up in his bed with the book she’d been reading earlier. He sat down beside her and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “How are you?”

“How am I or how is my arse?” Rose asked seriously.

“The later.”

“Hardly any bruising at all, just a couple teeny tiny ones. John’s cream works miracles. Still hurts though,” Rose admitted, blushing. “I hate this. You know that, right? I hate it when I… when I…”

“When you misbehave to such an extent that you require significant punishment?” Sherlock filled in. When she nodded, he wrapped his arms around her. “You understand it is not a reflection on your character, correct? You _are_ a good person, you do many things just as you should, but you still make some unfortunate choices or neglect to think things through. That’s rather symptomatic of your age.”

“I know,” Rose confirmed. “But that never makes this any easier. It’s really, really hard to do this part.”

Sherlock nodded. “I know. But you’re not alone and you are very much loved.” He held her in silence for a few moments before speaking again. “We should finish this, Rosie. You’ve got an early morning after all.” He chuckled when she made a whining noise. “Trust me. Please.”

Rose nodded and stood up, waiting while Sherlock repositioned himself on the bed. Once he was finished, she bent over his lap and felt his arm around her waist. She expected her bottom to be bared, but it wasn’t.

Intent on not hurting her, but also intending to follow through on what he had said, Sherlock took a deep breath and raised his right hand, bringing it down lightly on her right cheek. He cringed when she yelped; she must be very, very sore still. He lightly smacked her left cheek and Rose squirmed.

“I cannot do this,” he said. “Up, I cannot do this right now.” Sherlock helped her up from his lap, not at all surprised by the confused look on her face.

“Normally I would not even consider renegotiating a punishment, but I think, in this case, I need to,” Sherlock explained. “No more spanking until the very last night of your grounding. By then you’ll be all healed up and I won’t feel like a bastard taking you over my knee again.”

Rose stood there for a moment, having no idea how to respond. Finally, she gingerly sat on his lap and hugged him as tightly as she could. “Thank you.”

“Don’t tell Mycroft, he won’t ever let me live it down,” he whispered conspiratorially.


	9. If You Give a Girl a Flat...

The next few days of her grounding were some of Rose’s busiest yet. She volunteered, putting in as many hours a day as Lestrade would allow her to, then generally proceeded to Mycroft’s in order to pack her things for the upcoming move. She’d had dinner with him three times and there hadn’t even been any fighting. Rose was certain things couldn’t be better! With the exception of the looming spanking due the last night of her grounding.

“You’re certain you want to move still?” Mycroft asked her one evening as he stood in the doorframe of her old bedroom. “You can stay here as long as you like, the door is always open.”

Rose gave him a sweet smile, suspecting he was far more concerned about being alone in this big house than he was with her being away from his watchful eye. “I know I haven’t been back all that long, just a couple weeks in fact, but I really can’t imagine not living at Baker Street with the boys. Though I’m certain we’ll all be very happy for me to have my own little place. A girl can’t sleep on a lie-low forever,” she admitted with a laugh.

“You can take whatever you’d like from here,” he offered. “Whatever will make you comfortable.” The large old house had plenty of rooms that were unused with various sets of furniture and the kitchen had an overabundance of dish sets.

She nodded, smiling once again. “I know. You told me a few times now,” Rose pointed out gently. “I really will be ok. They won’t let anything happen to me, you know that.”

Mycroft crossed the room and gently tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “I know that. For all Sherlock is reckless with himself, he’s very protective of you. Always has been. I’m just not certain I like you growing up.” He’d really enjoyed having Rose around while she packed over the last few days.

“It was bound to happen someday. Everyone does it. For what it’s worth, I don’t plan on leaving again. Leaving, leaving. I’m much happier here than I ever was while adventuring, and you’ve been trying very hard to give me some space. I appreciate that,” Rose assured him. “I’m only a short drive away. I’ll come visit, and you can come visit me. I’ll even cook for you!”

“I’d like that, very much,” he assured her. He reached out and cupped her face with his hand, gently rubbing her cheek with his thumb. While he would never admit it to anyone, Mycroft had taken Sherlock’s words to heart about being more affectionate with Rose. He was trying very hard to do that, even though it was still quite awkward for him to a certain extent.

“You’re a good girl Rose,” Mycroft murmured. “I don’t think I tell you that often enough, but you are.”

Her face lit up at his words and she immediately hugged him tightly. “That means a lot to me. I know it’s hard for you, but it means the world to me that you’re trying.”

Mycroft was still for a moment before wrapping his arms around her as well and hugging Rose tightly. “You’re worth it, you know,” he whispered. “Will you stay for dinner again? I asked cook to make your favorites.”

“I’d like that a lot actually. Are you going to help with the move on Saturday?” Rose asked.

“I thought I’d be the director on this side of things. Make certain the movers don’t damage anything, including the house, while loading the truck,” Mycroft explained.

“Sherlock is going to be a nightmare for those poor movers, I just know it. He lacks good people skills sometimes,” Rose giggled. “He means well, but unless you know him, you miss that part! I’m going to do my best to act as a buffer so the movers aren’t raked over the coals. And I’ve recruited the boys and Mrs. Hudson to help me unpack once the movers leave. It’ll be a busy day.”

\------------------------

‘Is she still with you? SH’

‘Just sent her off in a cab. Had a lovely evening. M’

‘Good. SH’

‘Keep her safe, Sherlock. I feel very uneasy about this. M’

Sherlock smiled just a bit as he read Mycroft’s text. ‘She’ll be fine. We’ll all keep watch. SH’

‘We? M’

‘John, Mrs. Hudson and I. SH’

‘Mrs. Hudson? M’

‘Without her, England would fall. SH’

\-----------------------------------

“There she is,” John announced, smiling as Rose entered the flat a few minutes later. “How’d it go love? Nice evening, everything packed?”

“Mycroft is trying so hard, I’m so proud of him,” she responded, positively beaming. “Cook made my favorites and everything that needs to be boxed has been boxed. I’m exhausted.” Rose flopped onto the couch and smiled.

“Takeaway? Again?” she asked, giving John and Sherlock a stern look. “Do you two ever eat anything that isn’t takeaway? If I wasn’t here I think you’d both starve to death.”

“Mrs. Hudson would never allow that,” Sherlock assured her.

“And I make very good breakfasts, I’ll have you know,” John retorted with a smile. “And manage just fine with other meals. I may not be as good at it as you, or Mrs. Hudson, but we won’t starve.”

“Hmm. Not convinced,” Rose decided. “Good thing for you I’m not going far.”

“You watch John, she’ll spend just as much time here as she does presently,” Sherlock predicted.

“Perhaps. Can’t say I’d be sad about it,” John admitted. “She’s delightful.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes but chose not to comment.

“I knew I liked you,” Rose giggled, giving John a wink. “Well, I’m exhausted. I’m going to try and get some sleep.”

“Ah ah ah; not so fast. We need to have our discussion,” Sherlock reminded her. “We’re setting you free tomorrow, remember? Your final night of being grounded.”

“Oh, trust me, I’ve been counting the days,” Rose admitted. “I was just really hoping you’d forget about that part.”

“Highly unlikely.”

John’s heart went out to her. Rose had been so well behaved since that evening he’d spanked her! He gave Sherlock a look, hoping his friend would relent.

“Don’t you start, John Watson. She’ll be completely unmanageable if I don’t follow through,” Sherlock said.

Rose scowled. “She’s right here, listening to you two.”

With a sigh, Sherlock crossed the room and pulled her into a hug. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” he said quietly. “You knew this was coming, and I don’t like it either, but you know it’s well deserved.”

She snuggled close. “I know. I still hate it though. But then it’s done, right?”

He nodded. “Go get ready for bed, I’ll be in shortly. I love you, Rose.”

“Love you too,” Rose responded. She gave him a hug before heading into the bedroom to get ready for bed.

Twenty agonizing minutes later, Sherlock knocked on the door before entering. Rose’s stomach had tied itself in knots while she’d waited, and she gave him a nervous look when he entered.

“You didn’t bring anything,” she commented.

“I didn’t think it was necessary,” Sherlock explained. “My hand should be enough. Don’t look quite so forlorn.” He sat beside Rose and hugged her close, content to cuddle her close for a few minutes. There was no rush after all.

Finally, Rose pulled away. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” She gave him a tiny smile, clearly making an effort to be brave.

“Over my knee then,” Sherlock instructed her. He waited until she positioned herself over his lap before baring her bottom and wrapping an arm around her waist. “Why are you getting a spanking, Rosenwyn?” The question was punctuated by a sharp swat to her right cheek.

Rose scowled, finding it monumentally unfair to be asked questions while being spanked.

“Rosenwyn, I’m waiting for an answer,” Sherlock said sternly. When she remained silent, he began swatting her upper thighs.

“Ow! Okay, okay! Ow!” Rose yelped. “Because I destroyed a crime scene- ow! Ow! Not so hard! And didn’t think about alternatives to getting you that creepy fan letter. Owwww!”

Sherlock nodded in agreement with her response; not that she could see it of course. “That’s precisely right. When you do not take the time to think things through and respond to obstacles in appropriate ways, there can be unintended consequences, like contaminating important evidence.” He had been spanking her slowly while scolding, but feeling that the point had been made and was understood, Sherlock picked up the pace, peppering her bottom with hearty smacks.

“No! No no no!” Rose cried out. Though she couldn’t see it, her bottom was rapidly becoming first pink, then red, as Sherlock ignored her tears and squirming, determined to deliver a sound spanking. He hoped it would be the last for some time. When she threw her hand back, he caught it, and continued.

Finally, just when Rose was certain she couldn’t take anymore and lay across his lap, sobbing and no longer squirming. That was when Sherlock stopped, righted her clothing, and immediately helped her up. Enveloping her in a hug, he eased her back onto his lap, this time right side up, and tried to soothe the tears he had caused.

“It’s all done now,” Sherlock assured her. “You’re forgiven and we won’t think about it ever again. You took that so well, you’re such a good girl. I love you, Rose. It’ll be alright and you’ll be just fine. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” As he held her tight, Rose’s arms wrapped around him and she pressed her face against his shoulder, continuing to cry.

It took several minutes of cuddling and comfort, during which Sherlock spoke soothingly to her and even rocked her in his arms, before Rose’s tears stopped. “I’m so glad that’s over,” he murmured before kissing her head.

“ _You’re_ glad that’s over? Not nearly as glad as I am,” Rose retorted. She tried to sound angry, but she just couldn’t manage it.

Sherlock chuckled and gave her a wink. “Will you live to plague me another day?”

She rewarded him with a smile and nodded. “I do believe I will. Not that easy to get rid of me, after all. I’ve quite decided I like it here, spankings aside, and I’m going to stick around a good long while.”

“That is very happy news indeed,” Sherlock decided. He settled back further on the bed, happy to hold on to Rose for as long as she wished him to.

\--------------------

The following morning Rose rushed out of her cab and into the coffee shop. It had become a routine each day: she bought Greg coffee in the morning; he bought her one in the afternoon. Today she was running a little bit late, but knew he’d let it go if she managed to get the drink. The shop was busy, but several workers spotted her and waved as she stood in line.

Having been there every morning for almost a week, Rose was on a first name basis with each of the workers, which is why she was caught by surprise when an unknown male around her age was working the cash register. “Morning,” Rose greeted with a smile before placing her order. “Are you new? I haven’t seen you before.”

He nodded, returning her smile. “First day. Can I have names for the cups?”

“Put Rose on one and Greg on the other; I buy coffee for my boss,” she explained.

“Oh, that’s nice. Are you here often?”

“Pretty much every day, or so it seems,” Rose admitted, handing over her card to pay for the drinks.

“Guess I’ll see you around then,” he commented.

“Probably so. Have a good day!” Rose moved out of the ordering line and waited off to the side for the drinks to be completed. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him look over at her every so often, and she was rather flattered. It was nice to be admired by a handsome man! She made certain to give him a wave before leaving and hurrying up the block.

“I’m not late! I’m not!” Rose protested as she scurried into Lestrade’s office.

“Clock says you are,” he commented, reaching for the coffee.

“Then the clock is wrong,” she decided. “The shop was really busy and I got chatted up a bit. I apologize.”

Lestrade waved a hand. “I’m not really concerned. I hadn’t even sent Sherlock a text yet asking after you. Besides, you brought me coffee. How can I complain?” He winked and handed her a pile of work, directing her to the desk that she’d been using.

\-----------------------------

By the time 4pm rolled around, Rose had coffee orders from ten people for her scheduled daily run. “There are a lot of them today. It’s going to take a bit Greg,” she pointed out to Lestrade. “And you want your usual, yeah?”

“Please. And I’m not concerned about the time. You’re still on the clock for volunteering,” Lestrade assured her with a smile. “Can you make it back with all those on your own?”

“I used to waitress, I’m sure I can manage just fine,” she replied.

“If you change your mind, send me a text and I’ll send someone down. Now off you go, I’m suffering caffeine withdrawal already!”

Rose gave him a bit of a salute and headed off down the street towards the coffee shop. As she entered, someone bumped into her, almost knocking her off. “Hey, watch… Oh! It’s you from this morning. The new guy,” she said, giving him a smile. “In a rush?”

“No, I didn’t see you; apologies,” the young man said. “Name’s Mark. Your name is Rose, right? Back again?”

She nodded. “More coffee for the boss, and some of the others. It’s a ritual now, every day at 4pm.” Rose beamed when he opened the door and held it for her. “Have a nice day Mark. Lovely to meet you.” Placing the orders, she waited about fifteen minutes for them to be filled and carefully stacked the drink trays for the walk up the block.

“Did you need help?” Someone asked as she exited.

“Oh! Mark. I’m alright,” she assured him. “Just going up the street to Scotland Yard.”

“I wouldn’t mind. I’m going that way to take the tube. The station’s right by there,” he pointed out. Mark flashed her a charming smile; it made Rose feel like melting and she was sure her cheeks were getting pink.

“Alright, but just to the building. I’m not sure I should let you inside,” Rose admitted, allowing him to take two of the three drink trays.

They chatted pleasantly while making their way up the street, until they reached Scotland Yard and Rose took the trays back. “Thanks Mark. That was very sweet of you. Gentlemen are hard to find,” she said sincerely.

“Anytime,” he said. Giving her a wave he headed off to the tube while she headed inside.

Reaching the floor where Lestrade and the homicide squad were located, Rose could instantly tell something had happened. People were scurrying around and Lestrade was barking out orders and pulling on his coat.

“Have to take it to go,” he told Rose, grabbing his drink. “There’s been a murder. Don’t stay later than six and ask someone for a ride if you need one. Behave!” He winked at her before entering the elevator and disappearing.

\-----------------------------

The following evening, Rose was laid out on the floor of 221C. “I am so horribly exhausted,” she announced. “It’s got to be a takeaway night. I can’t even imagine summoning the energy to cook anything for anyone for at least the next twelve hours.”

Sherlock and John were similarly sprawled out on the floor, one of either side of her. “Now, see, I find that quite funny, that you’re so exhausted,” John commented. “When _we_ did all the work.”

“And Lestrade, don’t forget that,” Sherlock added.

“I did work. I brought up a ton of boxes!” Rose protested.

Both men looked at her, eyebrows quirked.

“Okay, many boxes.”

“Try again,” John told her.

“Several?” Rose offered.

John shook his head. “Nope.”

“You brought up _three_ boxes,” Sherlock stated. “Three boxes of breakables that weren’t particularly large boxes at that.”

“Yes, well I’m not the one that ran off the movers Mycroft hired, am I?” She quipped, giving Sherlock a hard look.

“Got you there,” John agreed. “Neither of us ran them off. Or even Mycroft in fact.”

Sherlock growled. “They were carrying things poorly that should have been better protected. And they were tracking mud on Mrs. Hudson’s carpets! And it’s hardly _my_ fault they were illiterate and couldn’t tell the word “bedroom” from “bathroom” when both were written in the Queen’s good English.”

Rose let out a heavy sigh. “Sherlock, you’re being dull.” She smiled at John when he snickered. “We heard this bit already, when you were shouting at the movers and calling them names.”

Sherlock continued on as if she had never said a word. “And they were stacking boxes inappropriately, even when they managed to put them in the right places! Boxes stacked on top of one another must be of similar size and weight or they are unlikely to stay up right.”

At that precise moment a large box fell over, toppling a whole small stack of boxes, spilling books at their feet. “You see?” Sherlock said, pointing at the mess. “Stacked inappropriately. Imbeciles.”

“I’m too tired to move. I might starve to death right here. Wouldn’t that be something? Get shot in Afghanistan, live, and then die of starvation in Baker Street,” John mused.

Rose rolled over onto her stomach to look at John. “Speaking of which, how is your shoulder? I told you to be careful, didn’t I? And you wouldn’t listen.”

“We couldn’t leave half your things in the street,” John countered. “And I’m alright.”

“Liar. Don’t go hurting yourself on my account, I’ll feel badly,” she said sincerely.

“Hoo-hoo!” A familiar voice called as its owner came up the stairs. “Come downstairs, the lot of you,” Mrs. Hudson requested. “I baked a cake just for Rose. So exciting, your first flat! And you picked me. I mean my building.”

“Of course I did Mrs. Hudson,” Rose said with a smile. “How about we get some takeaway and make it a real party? If you don’t mind having us.”

“No love, of course not. Come on then, up off the floor. John, how is that shoulder?” Mrs. Hudson fussed over him for a moment before leading the procession of weary movers down the stairs.

“You know I couldn’t live anywhere else, Mrs. Hudson. And I’ll be the best of tenants, I promise,” Rose assured the sweet landlady.

“Oh, I’ve no doubt you will be. Just don’t let that brother of yours start shooting up any walls in there.”

\-------------------------------

The sounds of a bloodcurdling scream ripped through the air. It was 2am and two men who had previously been asleep tripped over their covers as they scrambled to get out of bed as they heard another scream. One grabbed his gun, the other his harpoon. A key went into a lock and was turned, allowing them to rush into the room, following the screams, uncertain what they would find.

Only to find Rose, in the bathroom, screaming her head off and frantically trying to kill two spiders on the wall.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me,” John grumbled, putting down his gun. “For God’s sake Rose, they’re spiders. They won’t kill you.”

“Don’t bother,” Sherlock grumbled as he dealt with the spiders. “Irrational fear of hers, never changes, can’t do spiders. If you give a girl a flat, you’d think she could manage that all on her own, but oh no. Not Rosenwyn Holmes, not when it’s a spider.”

John sighed heavily. “Back to bed, no more screaming, or I’ll give you something to scream about,” he told Rose, far more tired and grumpy than he was actually angry. “You know, I don’t think we’re ever going to have a good night’s sleep with her in another flat, even if it is next door.”

“Very cleverly deduced,” Sherlock praised. “If only we’d thought of that sooner.” Putting aside his harpoon, he hugged Rose tight and kissed her forehead before returning to 221B.


	10. Keeping Secrets

“You’re here. Again. It’s as though you’re homeless,” Sherlock grumbled when he came home to find Rose in his flat.

“Love you too,” Rose replied in a sing-song tone.

His prediction that she would spend about as much time in his and John’s flat as she had prior to moving in next door had quickly come true over the past two weeks and Sherlock’s complaints were halfhearted at best.

 “Please tell me you did _not_ steal our coffee again, because I want to have coffee,” Sherlock retorted. “In fact, if we’re out, I’m going to spank you.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “You might be out.”

Growling, Sherlock exited the flat.

“Did you take his nicotine patches again?” She asked John.

“He abuses them terribly. You cannot wear three patches, it’s not safe,” John said, shaking his head. “And I live in fear of the day he has a “four patch problem.””

“I found of box of them under my sink the other day. I should really take back that key I gave him,” Rose mused.

Just then Sherlock stormed back into the flat, carrying a container of coffee grounds. “Look John, we have coffee again!” He announced a little too happily.

 “Well, would you look at that,” John chuckled, particularly when he caught sight of the look on Rose’s face.

“That’s my coffee!” Rose laughed.

“And this is my flat, which you continue to live in, despite having one of your own. I’m not entirely certain you actually _live_ in your flat and if I have to share mine with you, you’re sharing your coffee with me.”

The routine the three had fallen into was a comfortable one for each of them. Rose popped over each morning for breakfast with John and Sherlock if he was awake and eating, before she headed off to the Yard.  At night, the two men went next door to have dinner with Rose, much to the delight of Mrs. Hudson, who always thought Sherlock and John hadn’t taken good care of themselves. After dinner they typically went back to 221B, just because it was larger and more experiment friendly for Sherlock, until someone decided they were ready for bed. For Sherlock, there was the added benefit of being able to keep a good eye on his sister, and discover that she really did enjoy being around post-grounding.

“Someone doesn’t want dinner tomorrow,” Rose decided. “Is that what you’re saying Sherlock?”

“No, I’m saying give me back my damn patches!”

“That’s all me, Sherlock,” John assured him. “And you’re not getting them. You’re going to poison yourself.”

“These murders are a three patch problem John. I need my patches,” Sherlock growled.

“You need a time out,” Rose decided with a snicker. Her attempt to lighten the mood was met with narrowed eyes and a pinch on the behind that nearly sent her off the kitchen chair.

“John! He’s picking on me again!”

“John, make her go home!”

“Now, now children. Daddy’s trying to relax,” John quipped, picking up the newspaper. “If you can’t play like good little children, I’ll send you both to the corner for a time out.”

This declaration was meant with a moment of stunned silence from the Holmes siblings, before the trio dissolved into laughter, the tensions of the day melting away.

“And who made you ‘Daddy’?” Sherlock asked sarcastically, settling down with his coffee.

John let out an undignified snort. “Do you really need to ask? I am, by far, the most adult person in the room.”

Rose gave a sigh of contentment.  “I love this…this whatever we are together. Call it what you want, but it’s wonderful.”

“I heard a rumor earlier that you’ll be avoiding us coming up soon,” John said. “I’m quite broken hearted about it.”

“And we’ll starve, heartless girl,” Sherlock added. He wrapped an arm around Rose and kissed the top of her head.

“Avoiding is such a strong term,” Rose replied, shaking her head. “I’m meeting my dance partner tomorrow after volunteering and we’re going to start practicing for a ballroom dancing competition coming up in November.”

“That’s wonderful!  And we’ll be invited, yeah? To watch the competition, I mean,” John asked.

“Of course! You and Sherlock and Mycroft as well, if we can convince him to come.”

“Provided he’s not freelancing with the CIA or what have you, I’ll make certain he attends,” Sherlock promised. “What’s this new partner’s name? Do you know him?”

Rose shook her head. “No, I haven’t met him before. Bonnie said he’s brilliant though and we’ll be well matched,” she explained, referencing the director of the dance school. “He does ballet and ballroom, same as me. We’ll probably have a lot of late nights as we work on choreography and everything. It’s going to be a lot of work, but I’m so looking forward to it!”

“Be back by midnight,” John told her, giving her a firm look. “My dad always said nothing good ever happened after midnight.”

“That’s completely untrue. I was born around 3am and that’s after midnight,” Sherlock replied.

John gave Rose a pointed look. “See what I told you? Nothing good happens after midnight.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“I can’t promise that,” Rose admitted softly. “But I’ll do my best. Not because I have to obey any sort of curfew, mind you,” she cautioned. “But because I don’t want anyone to be worried.”

“I’ll expect texts on a regular basis, or I’ll come find you,” Sherlock added. “I’ve yet to track your mobile, but I will start doing so if you don’t communicate with one of us.”

John nodded his agreement. “And make sure he’s a gentleman and sees you into a cab before he leaves. If he doesn’t, I want to know about it.”

“Or Captain Watson will come looking for him?” Rose asked with a laugh. “I’ll be good, promise! Regular communication with someone, and I’ll be safe. We’ll be right at the studio and it’s in a good, safe neighborhood.”

\---------------------------------

“Louise! You’re back from holiday!” Rose exclaimed, hurrying into the coffee shop the next morning. “How was it?”

“It was wonderful. Have you ever been to the Bahamas? You really should go, it’s the warmest and most relaxing place I’ve ever been,” Louise said. “But I missed seeing you every morning. Have you started back at the studio yet? And did you move?”

Rose nodded. “Yeah, couple weeks back. Baker Street, 221C. You should come by sometime! And I start back at the studio tonight, I’m really excited.”

“That’s great. I’ll see you then, I’ve got the 10-12 year old tap class tonight,” Louise said. “The usual for you and your boss right? Such a creature of habit, silly girl.”

“Routine is good, comforting. Much better than moving around all the time, flying low under the radar,” Rose admitted.

“No kidding. I like my holidays, but you wouldn’t find me backpacking around Europe! Write your mobile number down for me again, will you? I dropped mine in the ocean and had to get a new one. Lost all my contacts!” Louise said with a groan.

“Well, as long as that was the only downside to your holiday, I’d say you lucked out,” Rose responded. She grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled down her number, giving it to Louise. “See you later on.”

Rose moved aside, not wanting to keep anyone from getting their orders placed, and waited for her latte and Greg’s macchiato to be finished. “Morning Mark, how are you?” she asked, seeing the young man looking at her.

“Oh fine, fine. You and Louise dance, huh? Couldn’t help overhearing,” Mark admitted.

“I’ve known Louise for an age, we started dance together when we were just tiny things,” Rose explained. She thanked him for the drinks and headed on her way to Scotland Yard.

As Rose entered Lestrade’s office, she let out a sigh. “You look like you haven’t slept in a week, Greg,” she said, handing over his drink.

“Feel like it too. Another one last night,” Lestrade murmured. That made three young women found murdered in the last three weeks.

“I thought so. I heard Sherlock and John on the stairs really late last night. Have you found a connection yet between the victims?” Rose asked.

Lestrade shook his head. “That’s why I called Sherlock. There’s got to be something I’m missing. But enough of that, no need to worry you about it. I’ve got two boxes of reports that need to be alphabetized and then added to the cabinets. You up for it?”

“Oh, I think so. Leave it to me. And anything else I can do to help,” Rose said sincerely. “Even if I have to buy you six coffees a day.”

He smiled. “You’re a good girl. Just do me a favor and stay safe, alright? That will be one less person I have to worry about.”

“Done,” she promised.

\-------------------------

When Rose went for the afternoon coffee run, she was disappointed to see Louise had left, but she didn’t lack for company as she waited for the large order to be filled. Mark, as usual, was waiting outside the coffee shop when she arrived.

“You’re really very sweet, but you don’t have to wait for me every day. I’m sure you’re exhausted, you get in here at four in the morning,” Rose said gently.

“I like to wait. I like to help you,” Mark replied, smiling.

“Well don’t wait around, alright? I’m a big girl, and I can always call an officer if I need some assistance,” Rose assured him. “You get home and relax after your shifts, yeah?”

Mark frowned. “No, no, don’t do that. It’s only an extra ten minutes; I’m off duty at four.”

She gave in and allowed him to help her carry the drinks up the street. Rose wasn’t quite sure what to make of Mark. He seemed very eager, but in the last few weeks hadn’t once asked for her number, or if she’d like to have dinner, or anything. At first she thought he was shy, and working up to it, but it had nearly been three weeks. He should have worked up to that point already.

Maybe he’s just a real gentleman and likes to help a lady, she thought to herself as she entered Scotland Yard. Not interested, but a helpful sort of fellow. Perhaps women just weren’t his area, and he was looking for a friend more than anything else?

\-----------------------

“I think you’ve got yourself an admirer,” Louise commented in the changing room at the studio. “Mark was talking about you all day. Wondering what you do up at the Yard, and were you seeing anyone. Loads of questions!”

“You know, I’ve thought so,” Rose admitted. “He’s very sweet, but he seems painfully shy. He walks me back every day after his shift, but he’s never said anything about liking me or wanting to spend time with me. I’m not quite sure what to make of him.”

“He’s cute, though,” Louise said. “Maybe he’s not dated much?” Her voice took on a tragic tone and Louise whispered, “What if he had his heart broken and he’s scared?”

“Oh, that would be awful! I really hope he works up to asking me out soon. I’m not seeing anyone at all, haven’t dated in an age. It’d be nice to start up again, especially with someone who’s as sweet as Mark seems to be.”

Louise smiled. “Leave it to me! I’ll put in a good word for you,” she promised. “Now hurry off and meet your competition partner. Now _he_ is a man, let me tell you. The little girls just swoon over him, it’s the cutest thing. Can’t blame them a bit. I’m very jealous of you Rose Holmes!”

The girls shared a giggle before parting ways; Louise off to teach tap and Rose to meet her partner.

\---------------------

“You look terrible,” Louise giggled at the end of the night. “Been a while since you danced six hours straight, isn’t it?”

“Too long. I’m not sure I’m able to walk properly,” Rose laughed. Her mobile vibrated and she checked it, expecting a text from one of her brothers or John.

‘You’re beautiful.’ No name, not a number she recognized. She dismissed it, assuming someone had put in the wrong number and sent a text to her rather than its intended recipient.

“Did you like Alfred? Isn’t he gorgeous?” Louise whispered.

“He is. I’m going to have a _lot_ of fun dancing with him. We’ll make a lovely pair,” Rose agreed. Picking up her duffle bag she walked with Louise towards the studio exit but stopped suddenly in her tracks.

“Do you see someone across the street, in that doorway?” She asked her friend.

“No, why?”

“I could’ve sworn that I saw someone over there,” Rose mumbled. Her stomach twisted into knots; she had been so sure that a man had been in that doorway. “Do you want to wait and ride with me? I’m going to text my brother for a ride, he’d be happy to take you home.”

Louise shook her head. “No, I’m fine. See you in the morning.” The girls hugged and Louise exited the building.

Rose pulled out her mobile to text Mycroft. ‘Could I get a ride from the studio to Baker Street?’

‘Detained. Will send my car. M’

She let out a sigh of relief when the car arrived, even if she did have to hobble out to it. After giving the driver address, Rose sent John a text. ‘You home? I’m on my way and need your help.’

‘Everything alright?’

‘My feet are so sore. Not sure I can make the stairs by myself.’

‘I’ll be there.’

Rose smiled to herself. John was so reliable and dependable. When the car dropped her at the curb, she hobbled inside; sure enough John was right there.

“What’s going on? Why are you limping like that?”John asked.

“I’ve spent the last six hours dancing, for the first time in a long time. I’ve got a lovely crop of blisters going,” she explained.

“Love, you should take better care of yourself,” John scolded lightly. He scooped her up to carry her up the stairs.

“Your shoulder! John, put me down! This can’t be good for your shoulder!” Rose protested.

“Hush, you weigh next to nothing, I swear it,” John assured her. “Don’t worry about me.” He carried her into 221B and set her down on the couch. “Alright, let me see the damage to those feet of yours.”

“They’re a bit swollen. I might need help getting my shoes off,” she admitted, wincing in advance.

After unlacing her sneakers, John carefully took her shoes off, cringing as she groaned in pain, then peeled off her socks as well.

“When you do something, you really do it, don’t you?” John chuckled. “That looks so painful love. Though I must say, you have the tiniest feet I’ve ever seen on an adult woman. They’d be rather cute if they weren’t so banged up.”

“Dancing six hours straight does that to a girl. I’m out of practice, or at least my feet are. The rest was good,” Rose admitted, grinning at him.

“God, six hours. Full on six hours?” John questioned. He frowned when she nodded in conformation. “Did you remember to drink like you should and eat a bit to keep up your energy?”

“Eh, sorta,” Rose replied, blushing a bit.

“No. No ‘sorta’ business,” he told her sternly. “You keep hydrated and eat like you should, or we’re going to have words about the importance of your health. Understand?”

By now, her face was completely red, and she nodded to indicate she understood.

John leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “I’ll have to lance these if you want any hope of walking tomorrow,” he admitted. “Try wearing some light socks until you get used to being in those heels for so long.”

“Oh, because that’s attractive,” Rose laughed. “What will Alfred think of that?

“Let me get my kit, I’ll be right back. Then you’d best tell me all about that Alfred; especially if he stayed until you were in a cab.” John headed upstairs to retrieve his first aid kit and quickly returned to Rose.

“You know, I quite like having my own personal doctor,” she decided. “Even if he scolds.”

“And I’ll do more than scold if necessary,” John admitted. “I’m very tempted to bandage your entire foot when I get done with this. I want to see these feet again tomorrow.”

Rose giggled and saluted. “You know, I quite like it when you say things like that.”

“Like what, love?” He didn’t look up at her, instead focusing on her abused feet.

“Just things. Fuss at me about things,” she tried to explain. “It means you care.”

“Why else would I put up with you?” John laughed. This time he looked up and winked. “Of course I care. You and those spiders though will be the death of me. Can’t believe you can’t manage those on your own.”

“In all fairness, I haven’t done any screaming since that first night,” Rose countered defiantly.

“That’s true, and I appreciate that. I enjoy my sleep. Hasn’t stopped you from popping over and half dragging me into your flat to get them during the day though,” he stated, shaking his head. “Say, I had a favor I wanted to ask.”

“Anything.”

“You haven’t heard it yet.”

Rose smiled. “Don’t need to. Ask away.”

“Well… I wanted to hire you. I’ve got an event coming up and I don’t know how to dance. I was wondering if you’d teach me,” John explained.

“Oh, I’d love to! That would be great. What sort of event?” Rose asked, her face lit up.

“A charity ball, benefiting wounded military personnel. I’d like to go and show some support. One of the girls from surgery is going with me, so I knew I just had to ask you for some lessons so I don’t make an idiot out of myself,” he told her sincerely.

“I’d love too, it’ll be great fun! She won’t be disappointed in you, I promise.”

“It’s about a month away, so we’ve got time. Time enough for you to keep practicing for that competition and for your feet to get used to working so hard again.”

“Saturday then. I’ll book a small room at the studio,” Rose decided. “You’ll be a brilliant dancer in no time.”

\----------------------------

When Rose woke up the next morning and checked her mobile, she found multiple text messages from that unknown number, one of which particularly unnerved her.

‘You dance like an angel.’

It meant someone really had been across the street, watching, and had probably been closer to the studio at some point. The thought of someone watching her was unpleasant, even a little frightening.

‘I don’t know who this is,’ she text. ‘But please leave me alone.’

There was no response.

\---------------------------

“You’re a little jumpy today. You alright?” Lestrade asked that afternoon.

“Yes, just fine,” Rose hurried to assure him, plastering a smile on her face. There had been eight texts in the last five hours and she still had no idea who they were from.

“Everyone’s a bit on edge with these murders,” he admitted.

“Particularly Sherlock, who is growing more obsessed by the day,” she confessed. “It’s troubling to think that even he cannot find a connection that makes sense between them. Loads of evidence, but nothing that ties them together aside from their sex and age.”

“Quite right,” Lestrade agreed. He was praying for a breakthrough before there was another murder. “But you’d tell me if it was something else, wouldn’t you?”

She nodded, avoiding eye contact. “Of course. Would it be too much trouble for you, or someone, to give me a ride to the studio after I’m done?”

“No trouble at all,” Lestrade assured her. “Sherlock would horribly murder me if something happened to you, so I’m more than willing to be extra cautious where you’re concerned. Besides, who else would do all this nasty paperwork business for me?”

“I suppose you’d have to recruit another volunteer,” Rose laughed.

“Well, when your hours are done, there’s a job open for you,” he said in all seriousness. “I could work it out. I know you’ve got something lined up with your dancing, but if you ever need work, I’ll hire you in an instant.”

Rose beamed at him. “That’s great! Thank you so much, Greg. I might take you up on that sometime.”

\----------------------------------

‘Would you send a car for me again? Or come yourself?’

‘What time? Is everything alright? M’

‘It’s dark and I’m a bit nervous. 11 please.’

‘I’ll see you then. M’

Mycroft frowned as he looked at his mobile, feeling very uneasy, but uncertain of why.

‘Everything alright with Rose? M’

‘Far as I know. Haven’t seen her much, trying to solve those murders. SH’

‘She’s asked me for rides from the studio twice now. M’

‘Good. She’s being safe. SH’

At the same time her brothers were texting, Rose was deleting more of those unknown texts from her mobile. This is really an elaborate prank, she thought to herself. There was no other way to explain it. Surely, within the next few days, someone would claim credit and they’d have a good laugh. Then she could stop looking over her shoulder and shake off the feeling that someone was watching her.

 


	11. Hannah and Hewes

John Watson was nervous. In fact, he was incredibly nervous and it was a feeling he didn’t particularly enjoy. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt anxious to this extent. John was certain that he had been, only he was unable to pin point a time recently.

“John, you have to relax,” Rose coached. “We haven’t even started yet. Don’t worry, you’ll be just fine.”

“Feel a bit like an idiot,” he admitted.

“Well you shouldn’t. I’m thrilled to be able to teach you how to do some ballroom dancing. I’m sure you’ll do well. Now shake it off. Shrug your shoulders, move your arms a bit, and imagine all that anxiety falling right off,” she advised. “You’ll feel better.”

He did as she asked, continuing to feel idiotic, but gave her a smile all the same.

“Relax. It’ll be just like Hannah and Hewes, except in reverse.”

“Who? Are you talking in riddles again? You Holmes lot just love doing that don’t you?” John asked with a laugh.

“Hannah and Hewes! _Easter Parade_. You haven’t seen that?” Rose asked. “We’ll have to watch it! Anyway, Hewes loses his dance partner who wants to do her own show and, believing he can make anyone a dancer, he picks out Hannah who he sees singing at a little restaurant. She knows nothing about dancing; can’t even tell her left from her right! But he does teach her to dance, and dance beautifully. It’s my very favorite musical in the world. So we’re Hannah and Hewes, but backwards. See?”

John frowned a bit. “I think so. You’re saying I’m completely inept, but not to worry, you can fix me?”

Her face fell. “No! No no! That’s not what I meant at all. Just that anyone can learn to dance and be great at it.”

“I know. I’m teasing you,” he assured her with a wink.

Rose promptly stuck her tongue out at him. “And people call me a brat,” she grumbled teasingly.

“Because you _are_ ,” John laughed. “A delightful brat, but a brat all the same.”

“We’ll start with the basic step. Think of it as a box,” Rose instructed. “Come stand beside me and we’ll do it together. Step forward with your left foot, then to the side, then feet together. Step back, then to the side, and feet together again.”

When John had that pattern down, they tried it together. “Hands here,” Rose instructed. “Hold mine up on this side, your other hand at my waist and we’ll make the box together. You’re the top of the box and I’m the bottom.”

They recreated the box step several times and John found himself picking it up with much greater ease than he’d thought possible.

“You know, once upon a time, the waltz was a very scandalous dance. Because people had to dance so close to one another and touch each other for a longer period of time. Right here in Britain, people refused to allow it to be danced at social functions for ages, eventually progressing to allowing certain people permission to do it, and then finally just getting over themselves about it,” Rose pointed out. “Isn’t that fascinating? Two hundred years ago, we’d have been thrown out of party in London for trying to dance this.”

John smiled. “That is fascinating actually. And you’re a great teacher. I can’t believe I haven’t broken your toes or anything yet.”

“I had faith in you,” Rose assured him. “Now, let’s make it a little more complicated!”

\--------------------

Two hours later, John could fully waltz: box step, the turns, every bit of it he could do and looked good doing it. Not only did he look good, he felt confident about his abilities.

“That’s incredible Rose,” he complimented. “You’re going to be an amazing dance teacher. I don’t know why Mycroft doesn’t see it.”

“I don’t know either,” she admitted. “I’m hoping after the competition, if I do really well, he’ll support me better on all this. It’s all I’ve ever done, since I was three years old. My mum signed me up. Every girl needed to know how to dance, she’d say.”

John smiled. “I’m sure she’d be very proud of you.”

“Let’s take a little break and then we’ll run through it a few more times, with music. I’ll teach you a new one next Saturday, so you’re not a one-trick pony, as they say,” Rose told him.

“Good idea. Time to hydrate and get an energy boost,” he agreed.

While they had their snack and drank their water, Rose checked her mobile. The messages kept coming, all throughout the day, intimating that someone was watching her.

‘I want to dance with you.’

‘Teach me to dance, too.’

‘You’re so beautiful.’

‘Won’t you dance with me?’

And on and on it went. She quickly began deleting the dozen or so texts, paying no attention to John for a moment.

“You seem to be quite popular. Lots of texts?” he asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, lots of them.”

Her voice sounded strange, making him frown. “Everything alright? Who’s texting you so much?”

Rose looked up, giving him a bit of a smile. “Oh, just Louise. She’s chatty.”

Part of her wanted to tell him about these strange texts and her suspicions that she was being followed by someone, but another part of her didn’t want to say anything about it. John, Sherlock and Mycroft would all overreact and put her in some ivory tower somewhere, never to be released. Besides, whoever it was would get bored eventually, particularly since she never responded. It hadn’t even quite been a week yet; maybe, if it went on longer, she’d say something about it. Or change her number.

“But you’re deleting them, not responding,” John pointed out.

“Can’t respond to all of them. I’ll text her back in a bit. I need to finish up with you and then Alfred is coming in. She’ll understand.” Rose gave him what she hoped was a reassuring look and placed her mobile back in her duffle before ushering John back to practice.

\----------------------------

“This is a great little flat,” Louise declared upon visiting Rose at Baker Street. “Your dining set is absolutely stunning. How did you ever get that?” She ran her hands along the gleaming cherry wood dining table.

“Mycroft. He let me take whatever I wanted from the house. There is so much unused furniture, between the rooms and storage and the attic. Otherwise I wouldn’t have any furniture,” Rose admitted. “Sit down, sit down. Pick out a DVD and I’ll pop popcorn.”

“God, it’s been forever since we had a night to chat and watch a film,” Louise said with a smile. She perused the extensive collection of DVDs and selected one of their favorites, queuing it up on the DVD player.

“Alright, we have our film, our popcorn, we need blankets. Can’t curl up and watch a good movie without a blanket,” Rose stated. She disappeared into the bedroom and located an extra blanket from her closet, then returned to the sitting room.

Twenty minutes later the door of the flat burst open so hard it banged the wall behind it. “Rose, I need to…” Sherlock stopped in his tracks at finding the two snuggled under blankets in front of the telly.

Rose was familiar with the look on his face. His ‘I’m deducing you’ look that often made people uncomfortable. “Sherlock this is Louise. You should remember her, from dance way back.”

Sherlock nodded and opened his mouth to say something when Rose cut him off.

“Sherlock Holmes, what is that container you are holding? Is that a human kidney?” Rose demanded.

“That’s gross,” Louise murmured, uncertain what to make of this development.

“It _is_ gross. Sherlock, please leave the body parts in your flat, we’ve had this discussion _thirteen_ times and I’ve only lived here _three weeks_ ,” Rose pointed out. “Out. Out out OUT!”

“I need to refrigerate-”

“No, oh no you don’t. Not in my fridge Sherlock. Get that out of my flat immediately and don’t bring anything else over here. The answer is no and will remain no until my dying day.”

The detective let out a put-upon sigh and turned to leave the flat, slamming the door behind him.

“I’d forgotten about your brother being all odd,” Louise admitted with a giggle. “And those experiments of his. Does he really keep that stuff in a fridge? With food?”

Rose nodded. “His body part experiments are the bane of my existence. I really need to lock my door. That would at least slow him down for a few minutes while he located the key to let himself in.” She shook her head and turned her attention back to the film.

Back in 221B John rolled his eyes as Sherlock practically flung himself into his arm chair and began to sulk. “I told you she’d say no. I don’t understand why you keep asking. She’s very serious about her fridge.”

\-----------------------------

A few nights later, Rose let herself into 221B just after midnight. She was surprised to find John, who tried to sleep like a normal person, still awake and her brother nowhere in sight.

“Everything alright?” John asked, motioning her over to the couch.

She nodded and settled on the couch beside him. “Where’s Sherlock?”

“Asleep for once. I’m in amazement,” he admitted. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“I did for a while. Had a nightmare” she admitted.

“Want to talk about it, love?”

Rose shook her head. “That’s alright. But is it okay if I sit here for a little bit? I don’t really want to be alone.”

John wrapped his arms around her. “Want me to wake Sherlock?”

“No. This is good,” Rose assured him. “I’ll go back to bed in a bit.”

She’d begun having nightmares about the person who was texting her and following her. While she’d never gotten a good look at the man’s face, there was definitely a man stalking her. He always dressed the same and Rose saw him everywhere she went. Doorways, across the street from the Yard, around the studio. She knew she should tell someone, but with all the uproar over the recent murders, Rose didn’t want to distract Sherlock or any of the police from solving the case. They were getting closer, it was really only a matter of time before the killer was well and truly caught and that was when Rose would tell him.

He nodded, kissing the top of her head. “I’m watching this awful old movie on the telly. The budget for it must have been less than one hundred pounds. Just awful, but in an amusing sort of way.” John fell silent and rubbed her back soothingly as they watched the telly. Half an hour later, Rose was fast asleep him his arms.

\-------------------------------------

“You’re white as a sheet, do you know that?” Greg asked the following morning. “Everything alright?” He accepted his coffee from Rose, giving her a hard look as he did so. “You look just about done out.”

She shook her head, giving Lestrade a brave smile. “No, I’m fine, honestly. Late night, that’s all. Things are really busy right now. John’s becoming quite the dancer and my competition is next month. Long days and sometimes I’m so tired I can’t get to sleep as early as I should.” None of that was _really_ a lie, Rose rationalized. She had just left out the more important bits!

Lestrade’s eyes narrowed, making Rose squirm a bit. “I’m keeping an eye on you.  I’m _not_ convinced by your story. I won’t object to a day off if you’re in need of one, you just have to say something. So would you like to say something?”

Rose shook her head no.

The man sighed heavily, rolling his eyes upward, as if silently asking what he had done to deserve this. “Then I’ll say it for you,” Lestrade decided. “Get out.”

“Get out?” She frowned darkly. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’m dismissing you for the day. Go home Rose. I’ll not have you collapsing under my watch,” Lestrade told her sternly. “Get your arse out of this building and back at Baker Street where it belongs for today. If I see you in here today, I’ll…” He paused.

“You’ll do what exactly?” Rose challenged, hands on her hips.

A devious smile crossed Lestrade’s face. “I will call your brother.”

“Sherlock never takes you that seriously, you know that,” she said bluntly.

“Not the brother I had in mind.”

Rose’s mouth formed an ‘o’ in surprise for several seconds before she scowled again. “That was well played. But for the record, that was also completely unfair. You know how he overreacts.”

Lestrade nodded. “So why are you still in my office, young lady? Out! Do you need an escort? I’m about to dial Mycroft right now.” He reached for his mobile and then proceeded to watch in amusement as Rose hurried over to her desk, threw her coat on, and ran rather frantically in the direction of the lift. Satisfied that he had at least scared her away for the day, Lestrade decided to reach out to someone just the same. Instead of calling Mycroft, however, he decided to send a text instead.

‘Dr. Watson, you’ve got a reluctant patient waiting at your home office.’

‘Which one this time?’ John responded. Lestrade could practically hear the man sigh through his text.

‘The little one. I don’t want her back here until she gets some sleep.’

\-----------------------------

‘Get your behind in a cab and come to surgery.’

Rose rolled her eyes. At least John was a welcome change from the stalker’s texts.

‘No. I’m fine. Will take a nap.’

‘I didn’t offer you an option Rose.’

When John received no reply from his petulant patient after five minutes, he sent a text to Sherlock instead.

‘Go find your sister and bring her to surgery, willing or unwilling.’

‘Why? SH’

‘Greg sent her home. He’s worried she’ll collapse.’

‘On my way. SH’

\-------------------------------

Rose did not prove difficult to find. She’d followed Lestrade’s instructions to return home, going straight to 221C where she curled up on her couch with a huff. Pulling the Mycroft card had been a low blow, but an effective one, she had to admit. She was searching for something interesting to watch on the telly when Sherlock let himself into the flat.

“John would like you to come to surgery. He’s worried,” Sherlock said, getting straight to the point.

“He’s ridiculous and so is Greg,” she replied with a long-suffering sigh.

His eyes narrowed as he closely examined her. “Not ridiculous at all,” he decided. “Your paler than normal, the veins near your wrist aren’t their normal size which indicates some dehydration, you attempted to cover the dark circles under your eyes with concealer, and I can practically see that your head aches. In short, you’re exhausted and I’m going to listen to John on this one. Let’s go, off to surgery.” While Sherlock may not take John’s protests about _his_ habits seriously, namely going days without any sleep at all and forgoing eating while working on cases, this was Rose. And he wasn’t going to allow his baby sister to get away with that nonsense, no matter how hypocritical that made him.

She groaned. “How can you possibly tell that my head aches?”

“You’re squinting, as if your eyes hurt; also the lights are dimmer than you usually have them,” Sherlock summed up. “Get your shoes and coat on; we’re going to see John.”

“No. I’m just going to relax here. I’m _fine_ Sherlock,” Rose replied firmly. She had the nagging suspicion that if she went in to surgery that John was order her to rest and she didn’t have time to rest. Not with a competition coming up!

Sherlock scowled. “He said to bring you, willing or unwilling. Surely you’d prefer to walk down to a cab on your own two feet, rather than be dragged down the stairs and shoved into one.”

She threw a pillow at him.

\-----------------------

Twenty minutes later, Sherlock walked into the surgery with Rose slung over his shoulder. He completely ignored the gasps and staring of the other patients, acting as it was completely normal that he should carry someone inside in such a fashion. Rose, on the other hand, was horribly embarrassed and wished she hadn’t put up such a fuss about coming in. Sherlock had been right; much better to walk on your own two feet.

“Unwilling then, I see,” John murmured as they entered his office. “Put her on the exam table and go wait in the other room.”

“The room with all the people?” Sherlock asked, frowning.

“Of course, where else would you go wait?”

The idea of sitting out there with all those people, particularly after carrying his sister into the building in such an outlandish fashion, was not high on Sherlock’s list of things he wanted to do. In fact, it made no appearance on the list at all.

“You won’t be expected to make conversation,” John promised. He hid a chuckle when Sherlock fairly stormed out of the office.

“I haven’t seen much of you over the last few days. I know you’ve been very busy with practice and such,” John began as he turned his attention to his patient. “Lestrade was right, you look terrible.”

“Just what every girl wants to hear,” Rose replied, sighing loudly.

“You’re very much like your brother in neglecting to take care of yourself and that’s a bad habit to get into. If you don’t take care, Rose, you really will collapse one of these days. Now stop your eye-rolling and let me examine you,” John said sternly.

Deciding it was in her best interest to cooperate Rose did exactly that, hoping that John would not confine her to Baker Street for the remainder of the day.

Unfortunately for her, that was precisely what he did. “I’m writing you a script for some pills that will help you sleep, but don’t take it until later on today. You need to go back home, eat a hearty meal and drink drink drink before you end up in hospital on fluids,” John instructed her. “And you will rest; really rest. No more activity today, just resting and drinking.”

“But I can still go to practice tonight, yeah?” Rose asked, sounding hopeful.

“Absolutely not. Not until you’re better hydrated and have some good meals inside your belly,” John said, shaking his head. “If you’re good today and do what I tell you, you’ll be just fine tomorrow to dance to your heart’s content. No practice tonight, no teaching, no volunteering.”

“But John! That’s so unreasonable! The competition is next month,” Rose whined. “I can sleep when I’m dead and I’ll drink all day long I swear. And eat. I _have_ to practice.”

John resolutely shook his head no. “No buts. You’re too much like your brother; willing to run yourself into the ground without a thought to your health.”

He exited the exam room for a moment, waved Sherlock back inside. “She’s to go straight home and get fluids in her and some food as well. Just rest, she shouldn’t go anywhere or do anything strenuous right now. Her body isn’t up for it. Can you mind her?”

When he had Sherlock’s assurance that he would keep an eye on Rose and make certain his instructions were followed, John let her go with the prescription for a sleeping pill. This time, Rose walked out of the building, unwilling to exit the same way she’d entered.

\---------------------------------------------

His phone rang, right when he was splicing a kidney on the island in the kitchen. Sherlock scowled, removed his gloves, and looked at the screen. He didn’t know the number but answered it all the same.

“Yes?”

“Is this Mr. Holmes?” A young man’s voice inquired.

“Sherlock Holmes, yes. Who is this?”

“I’m Alfred, Rose’s dance partner and-”

“And what is it you want?” He didn’t bother to hide his exasperation, his tone fairly oozing of it.

“She’s sick. Rose, she passed out and hit her head. The director called an ambulance, they’re taking her to hospital,” Alfred explained.

After getting the name of the hospital, Sherlock promptly hung up the phone and looked around the flat. It was just past 6pm. How had that happened? And he had just been talking to Rose!

The detective paused before groaning loudly. He’d done it again, that thing he always did with John. The ‘I don’t notice you’ve left, so I keep talking to you, paying no attention to the fact you never respond’ thing that John was constantly going on about. Without intentionally doing so, he’d created the perfect scenario for Rose to sneak away right from under his nose.

Grabbing his phone again, Sherlock quickly sent a text before hurrying out of the building. ‘Rose has been taken to hospital. SH’

John, in a cab on his way back to the flat, received the message and felt an overwhelming sense of frustration… and a sudden sense of camaraderie with Mycroft. God only knew what his siblings had put him through over the years. He gave the cabbie the new direction, alternately feeling concerned for Rose and absolutely infuriated with her as they headed for hospital.

\-----------------------------

‘Rose is headed for hospital. SH’

‘Lovely. M’

‘There’s moments when I feel completely unqualified to deal with her. SH’

Mycroft was taken aback by the admission. That was _so_ unlike Sherlock.

‘I’ve felt that way for years. She’s never dull. M’

‘Do you feel an urge to bang your head against a wall at times? SH’

‘More often than I care to admit. M’

‘She’s too much like you. Makes it more difficult. M’

‘I think you just insulted me. SH’

Mycroft chuckled as he responded. ‘For what it’s worth, I think you’re just what she needs. M’

 


	12. Reprecussions

Rose was groggy, but awake when the three men descended on the hospital. They all stared at her for a moment, as if trying to decide whether or not now was the time to scold and who should do said scolding.

“Didn’t believe me did, you?” John finally asked. He didn’t look at her as he said it. Instead, he studied her, trying to assess the damage she might have done to herself. “Hit your head, did you? Got a lovely goose egg growing on the side there,” he murmured, pointing to it but not touching it.

“My head hurts,” she whispered. “Nobody yell at me yet, please?”

That drew a smile from each of the men.

“So you know you’re in trouble then,” Sherlock concluded.

“Solves half your problem right there, brother,” Mycroft told him. Convincing Rose she was actually in the wrong was sometimes half the battle of disciplining her. If she already recognized she had made a poor choice, the rest would be much easier.

“Lots and _lots_ of trouble,” John decided. “I’m going to tie you to your bed when we get you home.” It was an empty threat.

Mycroft’s eyebrow quirked. “That’s really not a bad idea,” he decided after a moment’s thought.

Rose gave the concerned doctor a smile, recognizing his words for what they were. “How’d you all know?”

“Your partner called,” Sherlock explained.

“And you clearly lost consciousness at some point if you didn’t know that. Bloody good job,” John grumbled.

“You’re going to give the attending quite a hassle, aren’t you?” Mycroft asked John with a smirk.

The attending in question arrived just then and John did indeed begin running the show with an air of authority that took the other physician by surprise.

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock moved closer to the bed and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “You, my dear sister, are almost a full time job all by yourself,” he commented. “No wonder poor Mycroft’s hairline is receding.”

“I can feel Mycroft glaring at you,” Rose whispered. Her eyes were only half open, but she gave him a little smile. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Sherlock took her hand and squeezed it gently. “And so you should be. Before you ask, no, I won’t be keeping you from practice, once the good doctor feels you are sufficiently recovered. But make no mistake; we’ll be discussing this at length.”

Rose groaned loudly, startling everyone around her, including the attending physician.

“Are you in pain?” he asked, trying to get closer to the patient and further away from John Watson.

“No, no pain. I was just informing her we were going to have a discussion about taking proper care of herself,” Sherlock stated.

John snorted. “Oh, you better believe we are.”

The attending, a Dr. Emerson frowned a bit before nodding. “Well, Miss Holmes, you’ve got a very concerned physician here in Dr. Watson. Saw you earlier today but neglected to take his advice I hear. If you would all step out, or at least step back, I’d like to examine the patient for myself.”

After an IV and fluids were started, Dr. Emerson sent Rose for a scan to make certain she hadn’t injured herself during her fall. It came back clean. “We’re going to keep you a few hours yet. You need the fluids before you can be released,” he explained to Rose. “I’ll get you some food as well, since you haven’t eaten in a while.”

There was a collective sigh of relief from the three men.

“You see? If you’d just listened to me earlier, you wouldn’t be here right now,” John scolded Rose lightly. “You’re a very stubborn girl, Rosenwyn Holmes. _Very_ stubborn.”

“Yes, she is,” Mycroft agreed. He shooed John and Sherlock away from Rose for a moment, sitting beside her on the hospital bed. “How are you? Apart from that nasty bump on the head?” He reached out to push some curls out of her face.

“Okay. Really, I am. I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Rose said quietly.

“I know. You never do,” Mycroft responded just as softly. “Will you do this to yourself again?”

“No,” she assured him. “It would have been far less hassle to listen to John than come in here.”

He nodded. “Good girl. Do you need me to stay? Or want me to stay?”

“I’ll be alright. But… will you come by Baker Street later? If you have time that is.”

Mycroft smiled, his heart warming at her question. “Of course poppet,” he whispered, blushing a bit. It was disturbing to be so affectionate in the presence of other people, even if it was only Sherlock and John. In addition, it was a bit odd to be the ‘gentle’ person, rather than the one who would be tasked with spanking her for this nonsense. But odd in a nice way. It wasn’t fun to be the growling, angry one with her all the time.

“With a present?” Rose asked, teasing him.

“No,” Mycroft laughed. “An excellent try, but most definitely no.”

She smiled and reached for his hand, squeezing it. “Worth a try.”

“I really should return to the prime minister. He’ll be happy to hear you’re alright. I think he was slightly appalled that my initial reaction was to roll my eyes rather than panic. But he doesn’t have you for a sister, so he could never understand,” Mycroft said with a smile. “I’ll stop by later. Have Sherlock text if you need me.” After kissing her forehead, he departed, knowing he was leaving his sister in the best of care.

\--------------------------------

It was almost 1am before Rose was released from the hospital, with strict instructions not unlike those John had given her earlier in the day. The trio stopped to fill the script John had written before going back to Baker Street. The directive to sleep was followed quite quickly and the two men discovered she was fast asleep by the time the cab pulled up to the curb.

“Get the doors, will you?” Sherlock asked, scooping her up. Unlike the trip into surgery, he carried her in his arms rather than over his shoulder, following John up the stairs and into their flat, going right into his bedroom.

Rather than shuffle Rose around too much, Sherlock decided to give up his bed for the night rather than fix up the lie-low for her. After tucking her into the bed, he exited the room, leaving the door cracked.

While she slept, Sherlock and John began plotting her fate. “Some minder you turned out to be,” John grumbled good-naturedly. “Snuck right out under your nose.”

“You have to understand, I haven’t lived in the same home with her in a very long time. I’m not… current in all her ways of making mischief. Getting there, but not fully current,” Sherlock admitted. He almost looked a little embarrassed by that fact; or by having to admit that.

“The bigger question is: what are we going to do with her?” John asked.

“Grounding is out of the question,” Sherlock stated. “I cannot, in good conscience, ground her from activities pertinent to her chosen profession, whatever Mycroft’s sentiments on it.”

John nodded, acknowledging the other man’s point. “Forgive me if I’m out of bounds, but she needs a good, hard spanking for pulling a stunt like this. She could have seriously hurt herself when she took that fall. You don’t mess about with your health, particularly when you depend on your body as much as a dancer does. She should have known better and actually _listened_ for a change.”

“I completely agree. And you’re not at all out of bounds. In fact, I think _you_ should spank her,” Sherlock decided.

“Me?” The idea had certainly crossed his mind, but Rose wasn’t his sister. It spoke volumes about how much Sherlock trusted him.

“She defied your instructions to rest and take care of herself, and as a result went in to hospital,” he continued on as if John had never spoken. “That was very deliberate disobedience of what were very clearly communicated directives.”

“She didn’t listen to you either,” John added.

Sherlock nodded. “I agree, but we can’t both spank her. If you want your message about her health to be quite clear, John, I suggest you handle this issue. I’ll deal with her decision to sneak out of the flat in an alternative fashion.”

“Meaning what?”

A slow, devious smile crept across Sherlock’s face. “Meaning I’m going to come up with something terribly _boring_ for her to do. That will be far worse than a second spanking,” he mused.

John shook his head. “This isn’t going to go over well with her, is it?”

“No, and why should it? It’s a punishment John.” Sherlock used that ‘isn’t that completely obvious to you’ tone as he responded. “In all likelihood, she’ll be far more compliant about it after you spank her. It’s perfect really. Then she gets away with nothing but isn’t overly disciplined.”

“Well, sounds like you have everything all straightened out then,” John decided. “If you’re certain you can mind her this time, I’m going to bed. I’m done in.”

“Of course I can mind her,” Sherlock said with a scowl. “She _is_ sleeping after all.”

\-----------------------------------

“Lines. You want me to write _lines,_ Sherlock? That is… horrifically dull,” Rose decided upon hearing their plan.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Of course that would be the one thing she’d object to. Not that he could really blame her, he would never condescend to write lines for anyone at any age, which is why it was the perfect punishment for his very thoughtless little sister.

“You’re mad if you think I’m going to write you or anyone else any lines, or let him spank me,” she continued on. “Absolutely not. I simply refuse on all counts.” Her tone indicated that the matter was closed, at least as far as she was concerned.

Sherlock had other ideas. “I take exception to your tone,” he stated, his voice dangerously low. “Great exception in fact. And if you believe I’m looking for your opinion, or doing something so foolish as to ask for your cooperation, you are sadly mistaken, my dear sister. Very. Sadly. Mistaken. You’re quite lucky you didn’t crack your thick skull open yesterday.”

“Well I didn’t, so what is the fuss about then?” Rose asked. She calmly sipped her orange juice, watching Sherlock and John closely as she did so, before putting the glass down. There was only so far she could push Sherlock, and even she knew that.

“My god, you are a stubborn little idiot, aren’t you?” Sherlock grumbled.

She stuck her tongue out at him.

“Stop it Rosenwyn!” Sherlock shouted. “You will not mess around with your help! Bloody fine dancer you’ll make if you collapse at your competition because you’re too stubborn to listen to anyone else, including a _doctor_. You seemed so remorseful last night, was that all just an act?”

Rose sighed. “No.”

“What changed then?”

“I got better.”

John’s mouth dropped open. Sherlock was going to strangle her, right in front of him. He was absolutely certain of it when Sherlock stood up from his chair. “Sherlock! Sherlock, don’t do anything rash!”

Sherlock ignored his flat mate, stalked across the room, and hauled Rose up from the couch by her arm. “ _Why_ are you being such a childish little brat?” he demanded, punctuating each word with a hard smack to her behind.

“Ow! Ow! Sherlock no!” Rose squealed, putting a hand back to try and shield her bum.

“Move. Your. Hand.”

She shook her head no, making a little whining noise as she did so. Even with her robe and pajamas on, that had hurt!

“I’ve come at a bad time, haven’t I?” Mycroft asked as he stood in the doorway.

Rose took advantage of Sherlock’s surprise and scurried away from him, going straight into the bedroom and slamming the door behind her. Sherlock made to go after her, but Mycroft held up a hand. “Allow me.”

“Rosenwyn Aramantha, come back in this room _immediately_ ,” Mycroft ordered, his tone steely. Sherlock flinched a bit at hearing it. That tone never boded well for anyone.

Rose, however, did not emerge.

“If I have to come in there and drag you back out, I promise that you will regret it most sincerely.”

The bedroom door cracked open. “Why?” Rose asked carefully.

Mycroft’s eyebrow rose. “Come here. Right here.” He pointed to a spot on the carpet in front of him. “ _Now._ ”

Much to John’s amazement, Rose did precisely that. She didn’t look happy about it, but she’d done it just the same.

“Explain your behavior.”

Rose opened her mouth to answer, and then swiftly closed it, as if trying to decide what she should tell Mycroft. “I’d rather not,” she finally responded in a soft tone.

“You’d rather not,” he repeated. “Meaning that you are fully aware the behavior you were displaying was unacceptable and you do not have an excuse for it, correct?”

She nodded, her eyes fixated on the floor.

“Being an adult entails accepting responsibility for ones actions, not having fits of pique like a five-year-old,” Mycroft lectured. “Are you going to stop this nonsense and not put up such a fuss with Sherlock?”

Again, she nodded.

“Then you have something to say, don’t you?”

This time Rose actually looked up as she turned towards her brother and John. “I’m sorry for being argumentative. I’ll be good,” she promised.

“Excellent. Now find a corner and occupy it. Without any whining,” Mycroft added.

Sighing inwardly, Rose went to the corner near the bookshelves, completely missing John’s look of astonishment as she did so. Despite himself, John was incredibly impressed.

“Clearly, she’s feeling much better,” Mycroft stated. “But I think I’ll come back later for a visit. Good luck gentlemen.” With that being said, he took his leave.

“Would you like to come speak reasonably with me now?” Sherlock asked after Mycroft departed.

“Yes,” Rose responded. When Sherlock released her from the corner, she went straight to him, letting him pull her onto his lap.

“I hate it when Mycroft has that tone,” she sighed.

“Me too,” Sherlock admitted, hugging her tightly. “Shall we start over?”

“Please. Just don’t expect me to be thrilled, alright?”

He chuckled. “Of course not. Now, as I was trying to tell you before, it was really John you defied, much more so than me. He’s a doctor and when he gives you directives about your health, you need to listen to them. If you don’t, there’s no reason why he shouldn’t spank you for disobeying him and not caring for yourself. He cares about you too, you know.”

Rose sighed and nodded. “I know.”

“But since you did sneak out rather than rest as I asked you to do, which is why you’ll be writing lines. Because it’s horribly boring and you’ll make sure you never have to write lines again. Admit it, it’s effective that way,” Sherlock told her. “Two hundred lines, sitting on a chair, _after_ your spanking. I’ll come up with something suitable for you to copy.”

“That’s the part that bothers me the most. Chairs are hard,” she pointed out. “That’s going to be painful and two hundred lines will take ages.”

“I know, and that’s rather the point,” he replied. “And if you don’t behave, then you can do them while sitting on your bare bum _plus_ get a spanking from me. I’m sure you’d rather avoid all that.”

“I would, very much so,” Rose admitted.

“Then stop being ridiculous, will you?” Sherlock’s tone was light, but earnest. “Things always go better when you cooperate and I wouldn’t let John have at you if I didn’t trust him completely. You don’t think he’s going to injure you, do you?”

She shook her head. “Of course not. It’s just… embarrassing. You’re my brother and he isn’t.”

“But he is someone that cares about you,” he countered. “And if it’s a bit embarrassing, maybe that will be added incentive to take better care of yourself, don’t you think?”

“I hate it when you’re right,” Rose grumbled.

Sherlock’s mobile went off and he kissed the top of her head before looking at it. “There’s been another one. Lestrade wants me at the crime scene. This is bad timing.”

John frowned. “Does that mean there’s a good time to be murdered?”

Rolling his eyes, the detective nudged Rose off his lap before standing up. “Be good for John. I’ll be back when I can. Get her started on those lines if necessary.” This last was directed at John right before Sherlock hurried down the stairs to hail a cab.

Rose and John let out sighs simultaneously, prompting her to giggle just a bit.

“Let’s sit on the couch,” John decided. “I want to talk to you. Just talk for now,” he added knowing Sherlock often made references to ‘discussions’ that weren’t really discussions at all. He moved to the couch and waved her over, smiling when she complied.

“I know what all that fuss was about,” he said quietly. “It had nothing to do with getting spanked, did it? You expected that, am I right?”

“Yes. I don’t think I like it when you’re right anymore than I like it when Sherlock is,” Rose said, giving him a small smile.

John gave her an encouraging smile in return. “You were nervous and didn’t know how to say it.”

Rose nodded, looking down at the couch cushion that separated them.

“Sherlock and Mycroft have been smacking your behind all your life. They can’t do much to surprise you anymore. Routine, or consistency, can be really comforting. I, on the other hand, just smacked you over that issue when you were grounded and it really wasn’t a proper spanking. More a spur of the moment, just wanting to make a point,” John mused.

“How’d you know?” she asked, looking up at him.

“You’re not really much of a tantrum thrower. Oh, you get plenty stroppy at times, just like Sherlock, but this was different. This was well on its way to being an all-out tantrum. So I asked myself, why would she tantrum now, when she really hasn’t before? The fact that it was me was the only difference.”

“You’re much smarter at times then Sherlock gives you credit for,” Rose decided. “I wasn’t sure Sherlock would really understand if I tried to tell him and I also didn’t want to say it in front of you and hurt your feelings, because it’s not as if I’m afraid of you.”

John smiled. “That’s very good to hear. It wouldn’t have hurt my feelings, had you explained this to Sherlock in front of me. I’m quite sure that would have been much easier than being hauled off the couch for some smacks and then called to task by Mycroft.”

“That was an unfortunate moment,” she sighed. “Embarrassing. I hate it when he gets that tone. The ‘you better do what I say right now or there’s a paddle in my desk with your name on it.’ Must not have had it with him though, since he left. I was glad of that; that thing bloody hurts. I’d really prefer not to be howling like a baby.” Her cheeks went pink as she admitted that to him.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Can’t blame you there. Not that you’re getting out of a spanking with me, miss. I can’t believe you went off like that last night. You could have given yourself head trauma. I was frightened for you, when Sherlock sent me that text saying you’d been taken to hospital.”

“I wish I had listened. It really was rather frightening. I was dancing and then I got so dizzy and Alfred helped me over to the side, got me some water and then I don’t remember anything else. I must have passed out completely and hit my head on the table on my way down,” Rose speculated.

John pinched the bridge of his nose, trying hard not to think of her head bouncing off a table and then smacking hard on the floor. Unfortunately, the nose pinch didn’t work. “Well,” he said after a moment. “Do you have any questions about why you’re getting a spanking? Or how it’s going to go?”

She looked down at the couch cushion again. “What are you going to use?” Rose was pretty certain she wasn’t going to get away with something like this with only a hand spanking.

“That’s… a really good question actually,” John admitted, frowning.

“Wait, you don’t know? That’s a really bad answer. You’re not very good at this,” Rose decided, unable to keep from giggling just a bit.

He rolled his eyes. “Why don’t you go find yourself a corner again while I figure that out,” he decided. “Think about how you’re going to take care of yourself from now on.”

With a huff, Rose got up and did as he asked, heading over to the corner by the bookshelf.

John got up from the couch, trying to formulate a plan. Why had he asked her if she had questions if _he_ didn’t even know what he was going to do yet? He’d expected her to say no and one should always expect the unexpected from a Holmes!

This was far too serious to use just his hand, it really was. And, if he made the message clear now, John felt certain they could avoid future issues. He wandered into the kitchen, feeling certain he could find something there that would be appropriate; after all, his mother always had!

Rose fidgeted in the corner, wanting to turn around and see what John was doing, yet resisted the urge to do so; barely.

Opening a drawer of cooking utensils, a black spatula caught John’s eye. It had a good, wide flat surface and might work just fine. To test it, he smacked his own palm with it. It stung and he shook his hand afterwards.  Yep, that would do it.

“Alright love, let’s get this taken care of,” John called, returning to the couch. He sat in the middle and put the spatula down beside him as Rose made her way back over. “I’m going to use this,” he explained, gesturing to the spatula. “Not the whole time, but I think it’ll really drive the point home.”

“Now you sound like you know what you’re doing. I should have kept my mouth shut,” Rose admitted with a sigh.

“Alright, over my knee, miss.” John helped her across his lap then made quick work of pulling her pajama bottoms down to her knees.

“Nooooo,” Rose whined, even as she attempted to settle herself into a reasonably comfortable position.

“Yes,” John said sternly, using his Captain Watson tone once more. “Your brother told me to give you a proper spanking and in this case, I’ve no qualms about doing just that. You were completely reckless with your health and risked being seriously injured. If you can’t be bothered to remember to sleep properly or help your body function with proper water and food intake, I’m more than happy to provide you with a reason to do so.”

With that being said, John cracked his hand down on her bottom at a rapid fire pace. He kept an arm wrapped around her waist, anticipating that she’d squirm or even kick at some point and he was determined she not be able to wriggle off his lap.

“Oww!” Rose yelped. She had wanted to take her spanking with as much stoicism and bravery as she could muster, but right from the start Rose knew that was a losing battle. The swats were completely unpredictable, sometimes smacking one spot and moving on or smacking the same spot three or four times before continuing elsewhere. It didn’t take long at all before she was shifting uncomfortably over his knee, struggling to keep from yelling out with each spank.

 

 

John did his best to block out her yelps as he spanked, determined to give her the spanking she was due, no matter how much noise she made.  He kept up the fast pace, intending to make her bottom far redder than it was at that moment, before he’d use the spatula to drive the message home. He held on tight as Rose’s shifting began outright squirming as she struggled to move her bottom out of the line of fire. Unfortunately, he held her tightly enough that she wasn’t going anywhere.

“John! Ow! Ow! Pleeeeease!  John, please! I’ll be good!” Rose pleaded. Her breath was beginning to hitch, indicating she was close to tears, but still he kept spanking her. She was certain he’d never stop, finally breaking down in tears when the heat and sting became completely unbearable.

He paused, deciding to give her a short break before moving on to the spatula. “I know you’ll be good,” John soothed, rubbing her back. “I know you’ll think twice before you do something so silly again or disobey me again, won’t you?”

She nodded her agreement that oh yes, she would very much think twice about it! One hand went back to shield her cheeks while she pleaded with him once more.

“No, we’re not quite finished. Almost, but not quite,” John told her sadly. He’d love to stop and cuddle her close to dry her tears. Yet he knew that he wouldn’t accomplish anything if he ended it prematurely.  “Take a couple deep breaths.”

As Rose did some deep breathing, John caught her hand and held it to the small of her back before tugging her panties down to her knees. Her crying reached new volumes as he did so and his resolve almost broke. He forced himself to think once more of Rose’s head hitting the table and then bouncing off the ground. With that in mind, he picked up the spatula and began snapping it down on her reddened cheeks.

Her squirming began once more and she even kicked her legs now in response to the sting. Who would have thought it would be so effective? Rose howled and cried while he spanked her quite soundly with the kitchen utensil. John mentally counted out thirty hearty smacks and then dropped the spatula on the floor. Her bum was practically scarlet, from crest to sit spots, and John winced in sympathy.

“Alright, it’s all done now,” John said, hoping she could hear him over her tears. Now that he was done punishing her, it was time to comfort her. “You were so brave sweetheart, so brave,” he praised, rubbing her back. “I’m so proud of you. I know that was as nasty one, but you did so well.”

Taking great care not to further irritate her well spanked backside, he eased her panties and pajama bottoms back up before helping her up from his lap. Rose was still crying rather hard and immediately began to rub her sore cheeks once she was on her feet. Deciding they were far too sore for rubbing to do much good, she leaned against John, pressing her face against his shoulder as she continued to cry.

If he thought he felt badly last time, when it had been a simple smacking over her panties, John really felt like a heel now. Knowing that she had most definitely deserved this spanking didn’t make her tears any easier to hear. “Alright love, let’s have some cuddles,” he decided.

With little thought for his shoulder, John picked Rose up and carried her into Sherlock’s bedroom, intending to cuddle her as he had last time. Leaning back against the headboard, he settled Rose against him, hugging her tightly.

Snuggled as close as she possibly could, Rose continued to cry as she soaked up the cuddles. “Shhh, shhh, it’ll be alright,” John assured her. “You were such a good girl. I know that was hard, but you were so brave. I’m so proud of you, love. So very proud. I know you’re a good girl. Deep breaths now, come on. You’re going to sick up if you don’t stop crying, love,” he pointed out.

Rose took several deep breaths, calming herself as John continued to cuddle her tight. “There you go, that’s my girl. Good job. Take a few more now,” he encouraged. “Alright, you’re okay. We’re done, I promise.” He began stroking her hair, feeling incredibly relieved when she stopped crying. Taking a handkerchief out, he began drying her face.

“You look so sleepy,” John chuckled. “Wore yourself right out.”

“Ow,” Rose whimpered. “It really hurts.”

He kissed the top of her head. “I know, love. I’ll give you some arnica cream again later on. Right now, just close your eyes and try to sleep.”

“Don’t go,” she said firmly. “Please don’t go, please don’t stop.”

“Stop cuddling you? Not a chance. I’m staying right here,” he promised. John began humming quietly, stroking her hair once more. It was no surprise she was so tired. Her body was still catching up on sleep and she’d expended a lot of energy during that spanking! Before long, he could tell she was fast asleep, though he stayed with her for a while longer.

Once he was entirely certain she was asleep and wouldn’t wake up for a while, John eased himself off the bed and tucked Rose in before leaving her to sleep. There were plenty of hours left in the day for writing lines. For now, she needed her sleep.

 


	13. Lines and Letters

“Mycroft!” Rose squealed in delight. She hopped up from her chair and ran over to her brother, throwing her arms around him.

The brother in question was caught very off guard and hesitated slightly before wrapping his arms around her. “That is quite the welcome Rose. I don’t think you’ve _ever_ greeted me with such enthusiasm.”

Sherlock stalked across the sitting room and took a firm hold on Rose’s ear, pinching hard and tugged on it. “Don’t flatter yourself Mycroft,” he grumbled. “Back to the chair and back to your lines,” he directed Rose, pulling her by her ear across the sitting room and into the kitchen. Sherlock added a few good smacks to her bottom along the way.

“Ow! No! Ow!” Rose protested, allowing herself to be taken back to the kitchen.

Once inside the kitchen, Sherlock released her ear and took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him. “This. Will. Stop. Immediately,” he growled. “If you get up just one more time, I will spank you, set the lines you’ve completed on fire and make you start all over again. Am I making myself clearly understood to you, Rosenwyn?”

Set her lines on fire? The very idea of it was ridiculous, but Rose didn’t dare laugh. “Yes, yes you are Sherlock, I promise,” she promptly responded. “I’ll be good, I swear.”

Sherlock released her chin and stood there towering over her, arms crossed over his chest, watching as she eased herself onto the chair with a wince before turning away.

“Having a delightful afternoon I see,” Mycroft quipped, taking a seat on the couch.

“You don’t know the half of it. You truly don’t,” Sherlock said, returning to his chair and flopping into it. “You were just now her latest excuse to get up from that chair before she finishes her lines. For the last ninety or so minutes it’s been “I need to use the loo” or “I was just hungry!” as if no one else was here in the flat and could get her some damn biscuits. Then it was “Shall I make everyone a cuppa?” and “My legs are cramping.” John fell for that one,” he grumbled.

“I won’t ever again,” John vowed.

Mycroft watched this entire exchange take place and then began laughing; and laughing; and _laughing_. When he finished his hysterical outburst, he found both John and Sherlock glaring darkly at him. “My apologies,” he muttered after clearing his throat. 

“Sherlock, can you come here? Please?” Rose called out hesitantly. Given her brother’s present mood, and the fact that she was the cause of it, there was good reason to be hesitant.

Letting out a sigh, Sherlock crossed the room and looked down at her.

“I’m being completely serious here, not mucking around,” she began. “I can’t… It hurts so bad. I can’t keep sitting here for so long. That’s why I keep getting up, not just to be a pain and drive you mad. Please, _please_ can I have a cushion? I promise I won’t get up again for anything short of the flat being on fire if you’ll just let me have one.”

“I told you to give her one,” John added from the sitting room. “And I’ve told you the last 90 minutes she’d stop all that if you gave her one.”

“You promise?” Sherlock said seriously. “You won’t say a word and stay right here and finish your lines?” When she nodded, he relented and let her up to find a cushion for the chair.

An hour later Rose finished her lines without further incident. It was very unclear who, exactly, was most thrilled by that fact, Sherlock or Rose. “Anyone want a cuppa?” Rose asked. “I can make one now, right?”

Sherlock nodded. “Yes, you’re released. We all feel an in exorbitant amount of joy at the completion of your task.”

“Not from resting! You’re still resting today,” John clarified. “If you want to dance tomorrow, that is.”

Mycroft couldn’t help smirking at the whole lot of them. It was all very amusing when you weren’t the one having to play Rose’s keeper!

\--------------------------

It was well after 2am that night before Sherlock crawled into his bed. Throwing the covers over himself haphazardly, adjusting his pillow just how he liked it, the man closed his eyes, intent on getting a few hours sleep; hours he hoped wouldn’t be interrupted by Lestrade with another body. He wasn’t sure how long he had laid there, eyes closed, sleep descending upon him before he heard it.

“Sherlock. Sherlock?” A sleepy voiced called out.

It was, of course, none other than Rose, who had been asleep on the lie-low when he’d come in. Or at least he’d thought she was.

“What?” he answered back.

“You asleep?”

Sherlock frowned. What sort of question was that? “Yes,” he answered firmly.

There was a little pause before he heard her speak again. “Good, I want to talk to you.”

The room went silent again for a moment. “Fine, come up here then,” he relented.

Getting up from the lie-low, since both Sherlock and John had insisted she stay so they could ensure she rested, Rose sat on his bed, leaning against a pillow, looking at him with sleepy eyes.

“I thought you were asleep,” he murmured.

“You woke me up.”

“Then why did you ask if I was awake?”

“Well, it had been a few minutes. You could have been sleeping by then,” Rose rationalized.

“Oh Rose,” Sherlock said tiredly. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“About earlier.”

“Define earlier.”

“Earlier when I was writing lines.”

Sherlock could hear the hesitation in her voice, as if she wasn’t entirely certain she wanted to bring that up again. “I remember that portion of the day vividly.”

Rose sighed. “That’s why I wanted to talk about it.”

“Go on then,” he encouraged quietly.

“I’m sorry; _really_ sorry. I shouldn’t have done all that mucking about,” Rose responded just as quietly.

Sherlock reached out with one arm and drew her close, hugging her tightly. “I appreciate your apology,” he responded, kissing the top of her head.

“I’m not even sure why I did all that, other than it hurt to sit. Although I really _was_ hungry that one time. Would you really have set my lines on fire?”

The man chuckled, his rich baritone laugh rumbling quietly in the room. “You’ll never know! And I believe you know precisely why you did it, sore bottom aside. Think hard, Rosie, you’ll figure it out.”

The room fell quiet as she thought about it. “Why don’t you tell me,” she decided. “It’s late, I can’t think that hard.”

 “I think you just don’t _want_ to think about it,” Sherlock told her. “But I’ll spare you and say it anyway. You were punishing me.”

“Huh?”

“You really are tired, aren’t you?” Sherlock laughed. “Tired, but determined to make amends. But as I said, you were punishing me. You wanted to make it so absolutely maddening for me that I would decide it was far more torturous for me than it was for you and never make you write lines again.”

Rose let out a little giggle. “That’s… brilliant. I had no idea I was being so brilliant.”

“No, you were just trying to be an obnoxious brat,” Sherlock countered. “But there is a level of brilliance about that strategy. Didn’t work with me though, did it?”

“No. I was disappointed,” Rose admitted. “Because my bum really hurt.”

“Sadly, you weren’t the first person to come up with that plan. I did that to Mycroft ages ago. Worked with him. He was more ready to throw his hands in the air with me than he is with you,” Sherlock admitted. “Because you’re a girl.”

“What’s wrong with being a girl?” she demanded, sounding sleepier by the syllable.

“Nothing at all. Men just have inherent instincts to protect women, particularly those they are related to. Mycroft wouldn’t forgive himself if he threw his hands in the air with you and then something bad happened,” he tried to explain. “And I’m not entirely sure you’re even listening to me anymore.”

“I am,” Rose assured him. “I’m resting my eyes.”

Sherlock snorted indignantly. “Of _course_ you are,” he drawled. He laid there in silence for a moment, just cuddling her close. “Will you ever tell me where you went when you were away?” Perhaps it wasn’t entirely fair to question Rose when she was clearly sleepy, but she rarely talked about it and he was dying of curiosity.

“Nowhere special,” she murmured, moving to rest her head against his chest. “It wasn’t always fun,” Rose admitted. “Learned a lot though, ‘bout myself.”

“Hmm. What made you come home?” Not that he wasn’t happy to have her back, ecstatic about it in fact, but Sherlock was interested in her response.

“Couldn’t stay away anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Needed you… and My, too. Missed you.” Rose yawned, closing her eyes once more.

His heart swelled at her words. It was nice to be needed by someone. Perhaps she’d been away just long enough to realize how much she wanted and loved her family, as aggravating as Mycroft could be. He, of course, was the perfect brother, Sherlock thought with a smirk.

“Go back to your lie-low and let me sleep,” Sherlock decided. “You and I both need to sleep. Someday, when you’re ready, I want to hear all about your adventures; the good and the bad. Now, off my bed, brat.”

His request was met by complete silence. “Did you seriously just fall asleep _while_ I was speaking to you?” he murmured. “Oh yes, you are most definitely asleep.” With a put-upon sigh, Sherlock got out of bed to carry Rose back to the lie-low. Tucking her in once more, even though she wouldn’t know if he didn’t, he kissed her forehead and went back to bed.

\--------------------------

The following morning, Rose checked her phone for the first time since she’d collapsed. While she’d hoped that there wouldn’t be any further texts, Rose knew that there would be. And were there ever! Her mobile’s mailbox was completely full. Scrolling through them, she shuddered a bit as she watched the tone of them change from the odd statement about her to more demanding texts to wear a certain color, or look for him somewhere, or think of him when she did something.

By now she realized that this wasn’t just a joke or someone being funny, or even someone texting the wrong person as she had originally believed to be the case. Rose knew this wasn’t good, not at all, but still she hesitated about telling anyone. Sherlock and Lestrade needed to solve those murders before there were more young women killed. How could she take their attention away, when it might cost another person their life?

No, Rose thought, shaking her head. She just couldn’t do that. What she could do, however, was figure out how to block the number from her mobile. It took a few minutes to determine how to do it, but finally she enabled the block of that number, and let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. With that accomplished, she slipped her mobile into her jeans pocket and left for Scotland Yard.

\-------------------------------

“Ah, my coffee. How I’ve missed you in the mornings macchiato,” Lestrade commented, reaching for the drink in Rose’s hand.

“Nice, greet the coffee and not me,” she snickered, holding it out of range.

“Glad to have you back,” he said sincerely. “May I have my drink now?”

“I’m not certain you deserve it. I’m still deciding,” Rose explained. “After all, you tattled on me.”

Lestrade rolled his eyes. “You _needed_ to be tattled on. And I heard about that trip to hospital, so clearly I was right. Do you think I want your brother to murder me in my sleep? No ma’am. I’ll tattle on you anytime I feel it’s in my best interest.”

Rose tried very, very hard to look at him sternly, but that last commented made her laugh. “Fine, fine. Your concern is duly noted.” Handing over the drink, she plopped into one of the chairs in front of his desk.

“In all seriousness, you’re doing better now, yeah? You look better; got some color in your cheeks again,” Lestrade commented.

“Much better,” Rose promised. “And happy to be back. Resting is _boring._ ”

“Sound just like your brother when you say ‘boring’ that way,” he decided with a chuckle. “I’m going to keep an eye on you though, make certain I don’t work you too hard. I know you’ve got other commitments. So speak up if you need a break or a day off, alright? I didn’t put any certain timeframe on completing your hours.”

“I appreciate that,” she told him sincerely. “I really do, especially after all the trouble I made for you.”

“You’ve been working hard to make up for it, and I appreciate that very much,” Lestrade replied, giving her a smile. After handing over a flash drive and a stack of handwritten papers that needed to be typed, he directed her to the desk she’d been using.

When four o’clock rolled around, Rose made her trip to the coffee shop down the block. The officers were thrilled that she was back and that they could count on her for that afternoon pick-up me up they often desperately needed! Holding her coat tightly against the wind, Rose entered the shop and looked around. Spotting Louise, she waved and waited in line for the register.

“Feeling better?” Louise asked when Rose reached her to place the orders.

“Yes, finally. My keepers released me this morning,” Rose told her, rolling her eyes. “Say, I don’t see Mark anywhere. Day off?” It was strange not to see him there as usual.

“He was in a right foul mood today,” Louise admitted quietly. “The manager finally asked him what was the matter and he told her he wasn’t feeling well. She dismissed him for the day, a couple hours back. Will you be able to get these all back to the Yard alright? I could ask for a few minutes to help you.”

“That’s too bad about Mark. I hope he feels better soon. And if you can be spared, I would really like your help. I don’t think I can manage them all this time, there are fourteen of them,” Rose admitted with a giggle. “And I hate to ask for an officer to come down and help me bring them back.”

Louise smiled and hurried off to speak with the manager, who readily gave her consent. “The Yard’s become our best customers, and you’re a regular too,” the manager told Rose. “Can’t promise it every day, but today you can have Louise if you send her right back.”

“I will, I promise! Thank you so much, I really appreciate it,” Rose promised.

When the order was finally ready, the two girls left the shop and walked back up the block. Louise insisted on bringing her half of the drinks up to the proper floor and Rose readily relented, certain Lestrade wouldn’t mind.

“You bringing back strays now from the coffee shop?” Lestrade asked with a smile.

“No! Louise bravely volunteered to help me bring everything back and is just here for a second,” Rose assured him.

Lestrade held out his hand. “Detective Inspector Lestrade.”

“Louise Gardner, nice to meet you,” Louise said, shaking his hand. “I’ve got to get back to the shop. See you at the studio Rose?”

“Yes! I’ll be there with whistles and bells,” Rose assured her. The girls embraced before Louise headed back to the lift.

“I hope it was alright she came up. There were more coffee orders than I thought I could handle and my regular helper wasn’t working today,” Rose explained to Lestrade.

Lestrade shook his head. “No, no, that’s quite alright, in and out like that. Thanks for making the run.” He gave her a smile before disappearing in his office once more.

\-----------------------------------

John Watson opened the door of the dance studio and stood there in the doorway. He wasn’t even fully inside the building, and it already felt awkward. It hadn’t before, when Rose had booked a room for them to practice, but this was different.

“Hello! May I help you?” A female voice asked. John looked to his right and discovered someone was sitting at the reception desk. He entered the studio fully, letting the door shut behind him.

“I’m John Watson, Dr. John Watson. One of my patients is a dancer here, Rose Holmes?” John started.

“Oh yes, Rose! Gave us a fright when she took ill a few nights back,” the young woman stated. “I’m Jeanne, by the way. Um, so are you here to just make sure she’s alright?”

“Nice to meet you,” John responded politely. “And yes. I’d sort of prefer she didn’t know I was here. Doesn’t like being hovered over.” Oh yes, this was very, very awkward.

“Oh that’s no problem! There’s a small viewing room attached to the studio she’s in. Not sound proofed, mind you, but unless you’re loud, she won’t even notice you’re there. Window’s real small,” Jeanne assured him. “This way, if you’ll follow me. Rose has an audience tonight I guess. It’s nice.”

“An audience?” he asked.

Jeanne opened the door to the viewing room, revealing Sherlock, who was already seated and keeping an eye on his sister.

“You too,” Sherlock commented.

John nodded and took a seat on the bench where Sherlock sat. “I was worried. Her first day back and I don’t want her to overwork herself.”

“She’s done well so far. Had a snack, drank quite a bit. Don’t talk too loudly, she won’t notice us if we don’t make any noise. I’m not certain she’d appreciate our presence,” Sherlock admitted.

“That’s why we didn’t ask, isn’t it?”

Sherlock smirked. “Indeed.”

The men fell silent as Rose cued up the music and got into hold with her partner Alfred. The two began gliding over the floor, or so it seemed to the spectators.

“Wow,” John murmured. “That’s really fast paced and intricate.” He knew his comment sounded ridiculous, and not just because Sherlock let out one of _those_ sighs, but he was genuinely intrigued. “What song is it they’re using?”

“Quickstep; has to be fast. They’ve been working on this since I arrived and it looks better every time,” Sherlock admitted. “They have to remain in that hold once they assume it, and there are a requisite number of runs and step sequences that should be included in the choreography.

“The song, I believe, is by Ella Fitzgerald, which I’m certain pleases Rose to no end. Typically, those in charge of competitions provide the music in advance so the dancers can choreograph and, in theory, be perfect by the time of the competition.”

“Has Mycroft seen this? Seen how good she is? Because this is bloody impressive,” John stated emphatically. He’d been impressed by Rose’s talent during his own lessons, but watching her dance like that, practically float across the floor and move precisely to the music, was a whole other level of impressive.

Sherlock shook his head. “No. I believe the last time he saw her dance was a recital when she was thirteen. She’s improved since then, significantly, and I can tell she kept up with things while she was away. They paired her quite well with this Alfred fellow. He’s not too tall, but tall enough to compliment her height. How she ended up so much smaller than Mycroft and I, I haven’t a clue.”

 When they finished their run through the dance, Rose and Alfred stopped for a drink break. Or at least that was their intention, until the sound of loud clapping could be heard coming from someone.

“I think we’ve got an audience. Know those blokes?” Alfred asked, gesturing to the viewing room window.

There was John, clapping enthusiastically, and Sherlock, still seated, rolling his eyes.

“I do,” Rose said with a sigh. She was a bit embarrassed and could feel a blush on her face.

“Want to go say hello? We’re due for a bit of a break,” Alfred pointed out.

“I suppose.” Rose led the way out of the studio and to the viewing room door, opening it and sighing exasperatedly at the two men inside. “I. Am. Fine. Promise!”

“We’re aware,” Sherlock drawled. “But still concerned.”

Rolling her eyes, she ushered Alfred into the room. “These are my keepers,” she told him. “My brother Sherlock, and his flat mate, John Watson.”

“Alfred Mellor, pleasure to meet you both.” The young man extended his hand and shook both Sherlock and John’s hands. “Are you the one sending ‘round a car for Rose at night, Mr. Holmes?” he asked.

Sherlock shook his head. “No, that would be our eldest brother.”

“I’ve been glad of it. We work quite late and I wouldn’t feel right taking the tube home if Rose wasn’t situated,” Alfred admitted.

John beamed at Rose. “I like him,” he decided.

“We’re taking plenty of breaks now, too. It was quite a shock when she passed out the other night. It’s better for us both to take care of ourselves,” Alfred added. “So try not to worry on that account, yeah? I’ll take good care of her while she’s here. That’s what partners do, right?” He looked at Rose for confirmation.

The girl in question’s face was getting quite red, but she nodded her agreement just the same.

“Alright, I _really_ like him. Well done, Alfred,” John congratulated the young man. He chuckled when Alfred began blushing as well.

“Never mind us,” Sherlock stated, deciding to end Rose’s torture. “Is Mycroft coming later?”

“No, he’s busy, but he’s sending his car. You two can leave, I’ll be fine. Honestly!” Rose insisted.

Sherlock nodded his agreement. “We will. I’m satisfied. Are you satisfied John?”

“Yes,” John confirmed. “Keep up the good work Alfred!”

“They seem quite nice,” Alfred decided after the two men had left.

“Yeah, they are. When they aren’t obnoxious and overprotective anyway,” Rose agreed. “Back to it, yeah?”

\----------------------------------

A few hours later, Rose was dropped off at Baker Street by Mycroft’s driver. She was sweaty and exhausted, but it had been a fantastic practice. They were going to be absolutely perfect by competition, she was sure of it! At least with their quickstep; the waltz and tango needed a bit more work.

Putting her key into the mailbox, Rose retrieved her mail for the day before heading up the stairs. She knocked briefly on the door of 221B before opening it and stepping inside. “I’m home,” Rose announced. “You two were embarrassing, you know that? Please don’t come ‘round and do that again.”

Sherlock smirked. “Make certain you stay in good health then. I won’t have to worry that way. Or at least not about that.” He was certain there would always be something he’d have to worry about where Rose was concerned.

“Alfred seems like a nice fellow,” John piped up.

“He is,” Rose agreed. “But don’t be so… enthusiastic about it, alright? This is a dance partnership, not a romance or drama on the telly or something. But anyway, I just wanted to say I was home. I’m off to take a shower and go to bed.” After bidding them goodnight, Rose returned to her flat.

Before heading for the shower, she decided to look through her mail. A pale blue envelope caught her eye and she examined it: her name and address in block lettering, no return address. Frowning a bit, Rose opened it and a single sheet of notebook paper fell out. Unfolding it, she read the brief missive: How dare you?

Feeling more than a little frightened, she quickly shoved the note back into the envelope and put it into the top drawer of her desk.


	14. The Breaking Point

The letters had been coming daily for two weeks. They were always in the same pale blue envelope with no return address, written in block letters. Each time, there was only one line in the letter, alternating between being threatening and attempting to be romantic.

Do you think you’re above me?

I can make you love me.

Don’t you want me?

We’ll be together forever.

Every night, Rose opened the letter to read it before sticking it into the desk drawer. She had almost told Sherlock about them, a number of times over the last two weeks, but she just couldn’t bring herself to. Three more women had been found murdered, bringing the total to seven. Rose couldn’t distract him or John, or Lestrade.

Nothing bad is going to happen, she kept trying to reassure herself. As soon as the murders were solved, Rose vowed to tell her brother about the letters and let him sort it out. Telling Mycroft wasn’t even a possibility, she admitted to herself, because he would overreact and insist she move back home where he could scrutinize her every move while he solved the matter. No, everything would be fine so long as she took reasonable precaution.

\-------------------------

“Alright girls, we are all done for today! Everyone did fantastic work, I’m so proud of you,” Rose told her ballet class that Friday afternoon. A dozen 3-5 year old aspiring ballerinas smiled at their teacher and scurried out of the room. A couple of them stayed back and John watched from the side of the room as the little girls took their turns having a hug. A chorus of “Bye, Miss Rose!” rang out when the two stragglers went on their way.

“That was adorable,” John said out loud. The smile on his face quickly turned to a frown when Rose gasped, spun around, and looked like she’d seen a ghost. “You’re _really_ jumpy lately,” he pointed out needlessly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t see you come in at all,” Rose admitted, her face flushing. “Gave me a fright.” She crossed the room to where he stood and picked up her water bottle from the table beside him.

“Is everything alright?”

John’s tone was quite serious and it made Rose’s stomach clench a bit. No, everything was not in fact ok. “Yes, I’m fine,” she assured him.

He gave her a stern look. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, yeah?” When she nodded, John continued. “Promise?”

“Promise,” Rose said softly.

“That’s my girl,” John said with an affectionate smile.

 “Now, are you ready for your last lesson? A refresher on everything we’ve covered?” Rose asked, trying to turn the conversation somewhere else as quickly as possible.

“Very ready. I’m so glad I won’t embarrass Sarah tomorrow night.” He sounded genuinely relieved and that made her smile.

“You are a dancer, John Watson. Get used to that fact. All the girls will be jealous, I’m certain of it. Now, let’s run that waltz first.”

They worked hard for just over two hours, before Rose called it a night. “Let’s get home,” she decided. “I’m ready to have a night in. Or as much of a night in as I can get, considering it’s already 8pm.”

“Have you eaten? We should get takeaway,” John suggested.

“Sherlock can fend for himself,” she decided suddenly. “I could use a treat rather than a meal, and I know the perfect place. If we can manage to get there before it closes!”

\-------------------

“You have _never_ experienced a cupcake like this,” Rose assured John. They climbed the stairs and entered 221B, heading straight for the kitchen.

“They look very good,” John admitted, watching her open the box of cupcakes ever so carefully. “How did you find that cake shop?”

“A university friend’s mum owns it. We haven’t seen each other in an age. Got banned,” Rose explained. “Get some plates, please?”

“Banned? Banned from a friend?” he asked.

“Okay more like forbidden. Strictly forbidden. I was not going to cross either of my brothers after that one time I was out all night. I should have made a plea for the police to protect me when Sherlock finally located me. Sadly, he brought them with him, so I doubt it would have done much good. Mycroft made me a virtual prisoner at home; or more of one than usual,” Rose admitted with a sigh.

“I think I’d like to hear this story sometime,” John told her. “Do you ever see this friend anymore?”

“Here and there, not too often. I should really look Beth up now that I’m back and have my own place. Mycroft can hardly order me to stay away from people in my own house; not that I wouldn’t put it past him to try it just the same.”

Rose carefully removed his cupcake and put it on the plate. “Chocolate butter cream is so plain. Where is your sense of adventure?”

“Plain? Do you see all this frosting, miss? That’s the best part, the gobs of frosting,” John retorted. “I’m not impressed with your chocolate mint concoction.”

“Good, then I don’t have to share with you.” Rose stuck her tongue out at him and plated her own giant cupcake. She took it back to the couch and plopped down, almost losing her cupcake in the process.

John chuckled. “Very graceful, that was.”

“Shush! Now, eat the deliciousness. You will be amazed, I promise!” Rose took a big bite of hers, smearing frosting over her lips and nose in her enthusiasm then laughed hysterically when John managed to do the same with his.

“You should see your face,” John laughed. “Really, go look at yourself.”

“Oh you go look at yourself!” She flicked some of her frosting in his direction, laughing as it landed on his jumper.

John’s eyebrow quirked. “So that’s the way it’s to be, hmm?” Before she could say a word, he reached across the couch and smashed his cupcake on her forehead.

Naturally, Rose responded in kind.

\--------------------------

Sherlock arrived back at 221B feeling exhausted. He was sleeping less and less lately it seemed. Not that he ever slept much in general, but less of a little wasn’t great. He finally had a lead on the murders of those young women that he could use. He would have had it sooner had Anderson not hoarded the evidence like an idiot, believing _he_ could find something and get a one up on the world’s only consulting detective! Anderson’s stupidity truly knew no bounds.

He entered his flat having two things in mind: a shower and his bed. What he found, however, left him momentarily speechless. There were John and Rose, wearing a copious amount of assorted frostings, with cake bits strewn liberally around them, throwing perfectly good cupcakes at one another. In fact, while he stood there, Rose grabbed another one and tossed it at John, trying to catch him in the face, but he managed to dodge it. The cupcake hit a book on the shelf, leaving behind chocolate frosting in its wake as it fell to the floor.

“Those are _my_ books you just hit with that cupcake Rosenwyn!” Sherlock thundered.

His sister spun around to look at him with wide eyes. She opened her mouth once, then closed it and shook her head. Nope, there really was nothing at all to say when you were standing in a sitting room, covered in frosting and cake. Not a thing at all.

“Hello Sherlock. We bought cupcakes,” John said pleasantly, as if there was nothing out of the ordinary going on.

“Hmm. I’d managed to deduce _that_ much John. Thank you for stating the oh-so-very obvious as always,” the other man grumbled. “That does not explain why… why…” He raised his hand in a sweeping motion. “Why _this_ is happening, whatever it is!”

“Well…” Rose began, trying to think quickly on her feet. “We bought you cupcakes! Two of them, your favorites! Raspberry Bubbly and Turtle!”

“And did you manage not to horribly mangle them? Or is that too much to ask?”

“No, we saved those out,” John promised. “We just mangled the rest of them.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “How many of them?”

“I can’t decide if you’re pleased or displeased or merely confused,” Rose murmured.

John looked in the box of cupcakes. “Well, ten of them, apparently.”

“Oh my, no!” Rose squealed before dissolving into laughter. “We never really got to eat hardly any of them!”

John shrugged. “We’ll go back and get some another day.” His nonchalant air only made Rose laugh harder. “Don’t look at me, she started it.”

“Did not!”

“You flicked frosting at me!”

“And you smashed your cupcake in my face!”

“ENOUGH!” Sherlock bellowed. “Get cleaned up and restore our sitting room to its previously cupcake free status before Mrs. Hudson comes up here and sees this mess!  I don’t see her being pleased at the idea of having frosting all over her wallpaper or the baseboard.”

That thought sobered John and Rose momentarily.

“At least we didn’t shoot the wall,” Rose pointed out.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. “Don’t you have a home you can go to?”

Rose nodded her agreement. “Yes, but I can’t very well clean your flat from _my_ flat.”

“Fine. I’m showering in your flat then while you two sort this mess out. It had better look somewhat improved by the time I come back in here,” he stated firmly.

“Yes, Daddy,” Rose snickered.

“Rosenwyn Holmes, you are a plague upon this earth,” her brother responded with a groan.

\-------------------------

At 930am the following morning, Rose stumbled into 221B, eyes half open, curls wild, feet bare.

Sherlock looked up from his tea as she entered, unable to keep a smirk from his face. “You look quite awful, do you realize that?”

“Hate you,” she muttered, not meaning it at all. Rose fumbled for a few moments with the coffee maker before Sherlock got up to assist her.

“Are you certain you want to be awake right now?” he questioned, pushing her gently into a chair.

“Still hate you.”

John entered the kitchen, the consummate morning person: dressed for the day, hair sorted out, and a smile on his face.

“Rose is quite grumpy this morning,” Sherlock warned.

“Hungry, love?” John asked, leaning over to kiss the top of her head. “You’ve got that look on your face again. That sleep deprived look. I’m becoming less and less convinced you’re sleeping properly.”

“This is the part where she says she hates you,” Sherlock mock-whispered.

“No, I just hate you more Sherlock, and possibly for real. If that’s the last of my cereal, I’m going to smack you,” Rose decided.

He rolled his eyes. “If you like it so much that you cannot share, why is it in our flat?”

She groaned. “Because I eat breakfast here _every_ day. Routines, Sherlock Holmes, are the key to our existence.”

“Never mind the cereal,” John interrupted before the playful banter between siblings turned into hurling actual insults at one another. “I’m going to make you a proper breakfast. That’ll be just the thing to wake you up, love. Now come get your coffee before I drink it first.”

“Why is it John calls me such nice names, and you never do?” Rose inquired of her brother as she poured her coffee.

“I do call you nice names. I call you an insufferable brat on a regular basis and mean it with the greatest of affection… most of the time,” Sherlock countered. “On occasion I call you Rosie but I tend to reserve that for when you’re...” He paused trying to come up with the appropriate word.

“Adorable?”

“Hardly! You stopped being adorable the moment you could _talk_.”

“The word you’re looking for, Sherlock is ‘cuddling’. You call her that when you give her a cuddle. You’re not the only one that observes around here,” John commented.

The detective scowled darkly.

The sound of a mobile ringing interrupted their conversation. John answered it and gestured for Sherlock to take over the scrambled eggs as he stepped out of the kitchen.

“Don’t burn them,” Rose warned Sherlock.

He ignored her completely and finished the eggs. “Do you want a plate?”

Rose frowned. “What sort of question is that? My god, do you eat out of a pan when I’m not around? I worry about you, young man, I truly do.” She shook her head, attempting to look oh-so-concerned.

“They’ll go on your head instead of a plate in a second.”

“And then Captain Watson will get you after he treats my burns.”

“What am I doing?” John asked, coming back into the kitchen. He nodded when Sherlock offered him some eggs and sat down at the table and sighed.

“Uhoh. My favorite morning person is no longer his sunshiny self,” Rose commented. “Explain.”

“That was Sarah. Her mum’s taken ill and she’s off to see her,” John said.

Rose sighed sadly. “That’s rotten luck, the day of your charity ball. Are you still going?”

John shrugged. “I’m not sure. It would be nice to see everyone again, but I don’t want to show up without a date.”

“You could ask Molly,” Sherlock suggested. “Granted she would rather go with me than you, but she’s biddable enough. She’d go.”

“I’m not certain she dances. I’d like to put my lessons to good use.”

“Lestrade’s wife? He’d be thrilled if you borrowed her for the evening.”

“That’s unkind, Sherlock,” John scolded.  “Who else do we know?”

“Mrs. Hudson?”

“Not with that hip, no.”

Rose sat back in her chair, watching the exchange. “It’s like I’m not even here. I was pretty sure I’m here, since I’m eating eggs right this second, but I could be mistaken.”

“What are you on about?” Sherlock asked.

“You two are missing the very obvious solution. Which is me, in case you haven’t deduced that part yet.”

“You?!”

“Thank you, Sherlock. That horrified look on your face right now was fantastic.” Rose rolled her eyes. “If not somewhat insulting. Brothers!”

John leaned forward in his chair. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am. You want to go, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do. Quite a bit actually.”

“But not without a girl right?”

He nodded. “Preferably.”

“Last time I checked, I was still a girl,” she told him.

“What does that mean?” Sherlock asked, frowning at her. “Last time you checked.”

“I was being facetious, you idiot. And pointing out the obvious, that I’m a girl, and I’m a girl with no plans tonight, with the added bonus of being a dancer,” Rose responded with a put-upon sigh.

“You wouldn’t mind? Really? Don’t feel obligated love. You might not even enjoy yourself,” John pointed out. It was sweet of her to offer, but he wouldn’t hold her to it if she was just offering to be kind.

“It’s a military dance, yeah?”

“It is,” John confirmed.

“Uh, men in uniform? I’m pretty sure I’ll enjoy myself plenty, thanks,” Rose decided, giving him a cheeky grin.

Sherlock promptly choked on his cereal.

\----------------------------

John took a good look at himself in the mirror; a really good look. It had been a while since he’d worn his dress uniform and luckily for him, it still fit just as it should. He let out a breath and nodded at his reflection. To say he’d been surprised at Rose’s offer to accompany him was an understatement. Aside from the obvious reason she’d pointed out, he couldn’t imagine why she’d want to go with him and be around all sorts of people she didn’t know. He was determined to make sure she enjoyed the evening.

Downstairs, Rose checked her hair and make-up one last time before putting on her very favorite shoes- her Speakeasy Does It heels. “I feel tall now,” she told Sherlock with a laugh. “What do you think? Will I pass muster?”

She stood and spun around slowly for him, waiting anxiously for his approval.

“You look far too grown up,” Sherlock decided. “Ah, here’s the Captain now.” He indicated John, who was descending the stairs.

 “I… oh… You look…” John struggled to find the right word as he caught sight of Rose. “You look lovely,” he finally decided.

“Think so?” Rose asked, blushing.

John nodded. “Give us a twirl, love,” he instructed. He smiled as she complied. “I can’t believe you found something that fit you so well so quickly. I wasn’t sure you’d manage it.”

Rose flushed a bit. “Well, it isn’t new; it’s a couple years old. I always have to have formal things tailored and I doubted I’d find anyone willing to do that today for an event tonight!” Her dress was in a light shade of purple, almost lavender. It had an empire waist, delicate lace sleeves just across the top of her shoulders, and a neckline that was low, but not _too_ low. She’d gone to a hairdresser and had her long dark curls fashioned into a pretty chignon, with just a few stray curls left out.

“Well, we should get going. Put your coat on and we’ll find a cab.”

She carefully put on her coat, not wanting to brush against her hair, and followed John out of the flat after giving Sherlock a wave.

“Take good care of her, young man, and bring her home by curfew!” Sherlock teased John.

\-----------------------

“Are you ready?” Rose asked John when they arrived at the venue. “Nervous?”

He nodded. “A bit. Been a while since I’ve seen a lot of these chaps.” In fact, the last time he’d seen some of them was just after he’d been shot in Afghanistan.

“I bet they’ll be quite glad to see you,” she commented thoughtfully. “And I know I’m excited to see how you do dancing tonight! That’s the real test of any teacher: how does her student do when released in the wild?”

John laughed. “The wild?”

She just grinned. “Come on, let’s get out of this cab and get our dancing shoes on.”

Hopping out of his side of the cab, John hurried around and opened her door, offering his arm to Rose when she emerged. Sharing a smile, they headed inside.

\--------------------------

Rose was an unmitigated success at the charity ball. She danced nearly every dance, had every young man in the place asking if they could bring her a drink or something to eat while openly vying for her attention. She didn’t say yes to just anyone though and made a concerted effort to draw out the soldiers less likely to dance: those that were awkward and shy, or those that were injured. Within a few hours she had won many hearts and given out her number to a few of her conquests.

“You’re a popular young lady,” John chuckled as he caught up with her. She hadn’t missed a single dance that night and he was amazed at her seemingly endless energy.

“I am! I’m a terrible date, I’ve been dancing with too many other people,” Rose said, her cheeks turning pink.

“Well I’ve hardly been sitting off to the side myself,” he pointed out. “We’ve both been rather popular. I’m claiming this one though.” He took her hand and pulled her out to the dance floor.

“This is our fifth dance together, did you know that?” Rose asked casually as they began waltzing.

“Yeah?”

She nodded. “About two hundred years ago, you’d have been expected to show up at Mycroft’s tomorrow and ask for my hand in marriage. Gentleman weren’t supposed to show such partiality for a lady unless their intentions were completely honorable.”

John chuckled. “And if their intentions were not honorable?”

“Pistols at dawn.”

“That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

Rose giggled. “Yes very! And highly illegal actually.”

Just then someone attempted to cut in and John graciously surrendered her to a handsome young soldier who was missing one arm. He smiled proudly as he watched her chat pleasantly with the young man, putting him completely at ease. Not even for a moment was she awkward with him and John admired her for it. He knew that not everyone was able to act normal around those who were permanently injured.

“So, how many boys did you give your number to? Should Sherlock and I start guarding your door?” John teased as they left to catch a cab.

“You cannot tell Sherlock that I gave out my mobile number out,” Rose said firmly. “But, between you and me… five. What can I say; I like a man in uniform.”

John laughed. “Our secret then. Thank you for coming with me tonight. I really meant a lot to me,” he admitted a bit more solemnly.

“Anytime, for anything. Truly,” she said softly.

John wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close, dropping a kiss on top of her head. “You really are a sweetheart, you know that? I was so proud of you tonight.”

Rose looked up at him and smiled. “What for?”

“You really gave those men a boost. The ones you were dancing and chatting with, who’d been injured. Acclimating back into civilian life was tough for me, but I didn’t have a permanent injury. I was still whole, more or less. I can only imagine how tough it has been for those that aren’t quite whole anymore,” John admitted. “I just bet it made their night to have such a pretty thing as you paying attention to them.”

Blushing at his praise, Rose waved for a cab.

\-------------------------------------

Before long, they were back at Baker Street. “I’m going to get my mail and change,” Rose told John. “I’ll be over in a few minutes. I’m sure Sherlock will want to hear all about it. And if he doesn’t, that’s too bad.”

“Alright,” John agreed. He headed upstairs, leaving Rose to get her mail.

There was another pale blue envelope. Rose hurried up to her flat and let herself in before ripping it open. There was only one word.

‘Tonight.’

She shuddered; her breath quickened. This couldn’t go on any longer. Not even a minute longer.

Retrieving the other letters from her desk drawer, Rose shoved them into a larger purse and hurriedly added the items from her little clutch into the purse. Then she picked up her mobile and made a call.

\---------------------------

Mycroft Holmes was enjoying a very late, but delicious, supper when his mobile rang. Frowning, he glanced at it. That frown deepened when he saw it was Rose. She _never_ called.

“Rose? Is everything alright?”

“No, no it’s not,” Rose blurted out.

Mycroft could hear the panic in her voice. “Tell me where you are,” he said firmly.

Rose started to cry. “Mycroft, I’m in so much trouble and I’m so scared. I need you.”

Ice cold fear spread through his chest. “Rosenwyn, tell me where you are and I will come get you.”

“Baker Street.”

“Go wait for me in the entry; I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Mycroft hung up the mobile and practically ran out of the house.

Picking up her purse, Rose left her apartment and went back downstairs to wait for Mycroft. Tears were streaming down her cheeks and she was trembling. How could she have been so stupid? As she stood there berating herself someone walked up behind her and wrapped one arm around her torso while the other hand held a knife to her neck.


	15. On a Darkened Street...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if this needs a warning, but better safe than sorry: there will be some discussion of blood and injuries.

_Five Minutes Prior_

Lestrade walked into the murder suspect’s bedroom, the evidence team right behind him. “My god,” he whispered. The wall was littered with a hundred or so photographs of none other than Rose Holmes. “Sherlock! Get in here!” he shouted.

Sighing, and with a sarcastic comment on the tip of his tongue, Sherlock left the living room and followed the sound of Lestrade’s voice. The comment died on his lips as he walked into the room and caught sight of the wall.

\------------------------

John wished he could have been surprised that Sherlock wasn’t home when he and Rose got back to Baker Street; sadly, it was likely there had been yet another murder. Heading up to his room, he began to change out of his dress uniform when his mobile rang.

“JOHN! Is Rose with you?” Sherlock shouted.

“No, she’s in her flat. What’s going on?”

“Do NOT let her leave! Lestrade and I are coming to Baker Street.”

“Wh-” There was no point in finishing his question as Sherlock promptly hung up. John retrieved his gun and was heading back to the sitting room when he heard a scream. “More spiders,” he grumbled, picking up his pace.

Then he heard another scream, one he was certain didn’t belong to Rose.

“SHERLOCK! JOHN!” Mrs. Hudson screamed. “There’s a man with a knife!”

\------------------------------------

Rose let out a scream and managed to kick Mrs. Hudson’s door twice before the man took her outside. The second they were clear of the door, she completely let her body go slack and fell right at his feet. The man was caught off guard, not expecting her to crumple, and took a moment to process and respond. That moment was just what she needed and Rose tried to get back into the building.

The man grabbed her coat, yanking her backwards. Rose immediately tried to slip her arms out of it and nearly succeeded, but the man was faster at anticipating what she’d do this time. The door slammed shut behind him as Mrs. Hudson screamed.

Struggling for all she was worth, Rose fought to get away. The man’s grip was like a vice and he had the knife to her throat. She could feel it pressing into her neck and a sudden burst of warmth. Reaching back with both hands, she grabbed onto his head, pulling the mask off the man before hitting him with her head as hard as she could.

The man let go for a moment and she tried to run. In her panic, she ran away from 221B rather than towards it, but she didn’t get very far. The man tackled her to the ground and rolled her onto her back. That was when she saw his face. It was Mark, from the coffee shop. “Mark! What are you doing?!” Rose screamed as he sat on her legs and raised the knife.

Instinctively Rose’s hands went up to shield herself from the blade. It sliced at her skin as he swung it at a furious pace while she screamed and fought, alternately blocking the knife and hitting at him with her fists.

\-------------------------

John rushed out of the building and onto the street, just in time to see Rose tackled a block away and the moonlight shine on a blade. He pulled his gun and ran towards them. “STOP! STOP OR I WILL KILL YOU!” John warned, hurrying towards them. A scream pierced the air and the knife plunged into Rose’s chest.

A shot was fired and Mark fell over on top of her, the knife clattering onto the sidewalk beside him. John hauled the man off Rose and made certain the man was dead before turning his attention back to Rose.

“John, John, John,” she repeated his name, screaming in terror, while reaching for his hand.

“No, no, lie still,” John told her sternly. “Lie still, don’t try to talk. I’m going to help you.” His eyes quickly assessed her wounds as best he could while blood was seeping out of several of them. It was the one directly to her chest that worried him most. He began putting pressure on her wounds, the ones that appeared to be the most severe, taking off his own jumper to press to her neck and chest.

“I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die,” Rose sobbed, struggling to breathe.

“You’re not going to die. Stay with me, keep looking at me. I’m a doctor, remember? I’ll make sure you’re alright,” John told her. He could hear the sound of feet running and hoped to God it was the police responding to Mrs. Hudson’s call.

Instead, it was Mycroft, who dropped to his knees beside his little sister. “Get an ambulance Mycroft!” John growled. His growling made Rose cry even harder, making her breathing more labored.

“Love, I mean it, you’ll be alright,” John promised. “Eyes open, look at me. I promise, I’ll make sure you’re alright. You’re such a good girl, that’s it, keep looking at me. It’s all over, that man won’t touch you ever again. Come on my love, try to calm down. You can do it; that’s my good girl. The ambulance is on its way and I’ll get you all patched up. Promise love, I promise.”

As if his very words had summoned the help she so desperately needed, Lestrade’s car squealed to a halt beside an ambulance. The paramedics tried to move John, who refused to be parted from her as he imparted medical information, while Mycroft and Sherlock hovered at Rose’s sides.

“Sir, let us take over, step away. Detective Inspector, he needs to step away! They all do!” The paramedic shouted.

His doctoring instinct taking over, John moved away and encouraged the Holmes brothers to do the same. They watched in horror as Rose was put on a stretcher and taken into the ambulance to be whisked away.

For a long moment, everyone, including Lestrade, just stood there, watching the ambulance drive away. Finally, Mycroft ushered his brother and John into his car to follow Rose to the hospital. Just before he slid into the driver’s seat Mycroft turned to Lestrade and said, “I killed him. That’s my gun. Deal with it.” The two men shared a look and then Mycroft got into his car.

\-----------------------------

Mrs. Hudson arrived at hospital a half hour later and joined John, Sherlock and Mycroft in the waiting room. “Anything?” she asked. “I brought some sandwiches, in case we’re here a while. And Rose’s purse, she might need it.”

Sherlock took the purse from her and held it in his hands, staring at it. He couldn’t get the image of Rose, covered in blood, lifted away on that stretcher. Someone had hurt her and he hadn’t been there. _He hadn’t been there._

“There was a bunch of letters in it that fell out in the entry,” Mrs. Hudson went on. “I tucked them back up in there. That nice inspector said he’ll be in when he can.”

“How were you there?” Sherlock asked. It had been the first time he’d spoken since they’d arrived. “Why were you there Mycroft?”

His elder brother looked lost in his thoughts and didn’t register the question until Sherlock took hold of his shirt and pulled, putting his face right in front of Mycroft’s. “Why were you there?” he growled.

“She called me. Said she was in trouble. My god Sherlock, she sounded terrified,” Mycroft said quietly. “I came as quickly as I could.”

“Did she say what was wrong?” Sherlock questioned. His mind was racing a thousand miles a minute as he tried to put the pieces together of why the murder suspect he and Lestrade had been after tried to kill his baby sister.

“No, just that she was in trouble and she needed me.”

Sherlock finally let go of Mycroft and leaned back in his own chair, trying to detach himself emotionally from the events. Still holding her purse, he steepled his hands to think.

“John, I brought you something to wear,” Mrs. Hudson whispered, trying not to disturb Sherlock’s process. “Didn’t think you’d be wanting to wear what you’ve got on.”

He managed a weak smile for her, before looking once more at his clothing. He had no idea where his jumper had gone, but the legs of his pants were soaked in blood and it was spattered on his shirt; even his hands were stained with it.

“Letters. Did you say letters?” Sherlock suddenly spoke up. He practically pulled the zipper off Rose’s large purse and proceeded to dump its contents on the floor. Getting up suddenly, Sherlock procured gloves from a nurse and began examining each item. The unimportant ones were tossed aside.

“Pepper spray, unused, recently purchased,” he murmured, putting that on the chair across from him. “Flashlight, also new.” He shook it. “Heavy; could crack a skull, heavy.” That joined the pepper spray. “She purchased these within the last week. She was scared, why didn’t she say anything?” Sherlock went through the rest of the items, leaving the letters for last.

There were sixteen in total and Sherlock opened each one, reading it aloud to the others.

“She’s been so jumpy lately,” John pointed out. “No wonder.”

“No wonder indeed. The question is why she didn’t come to me. Clearly, she knew she was being stalked. Rose is smart, there’s no other conclusion that she could have assumed,” Sherlock said firmly.

“I cannot believe she’d be so stupid,” Mycroft sputtered. It was completely inconceivable that Rose wouldn’t have come to one of them, any of them, with these letters.

“This is why she called,” Sherlock told him, holding up the one-word letter. ‘Tonight.’

Mycroft’s face turned dark. “When she’s better, I’m going to lock her up somewhere.”

John frowned. “Where?”

“An ivory tower, a jail cell, an underground bunker, _somewhere_. After I spank the living daylights out of her!” Mycroft decided. “Of all the stupid things for her to do!”

“Well, we all go through that stage. Think we know it all and those who raised us are the least intelligent people in Britain,” Mrs. Hudson commented thoughtfully.

“That stage, done. She will have _no more_ stages. Ever,” Mycroft decided.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “She won’t get away with this, I agree. She lied to all of us and not just in keeping this from us. She lied to our faces, assuring us everything was alright. Very clearly, it was not.”

John nodded. “I completely agree. Let’s just keep concentrating on the fact that she’ll be alright for us to all have a go smacking that behind of hers. After an appropriate period of rest! Nobody is smacking anybody until she’s well. Not until I clear it.”

Mrs. Hudson chuckled. “Poor dear, she has no idea what she’s in for.”

“She is grounded for… the rest of her life,” Sherlock decided. Discussing what they would do with her made him feel better; some sort of strange sense of assurance that she’d be alright. “And I’m going to do something _very_ drastic, though I’m not entirely certain what that will be. Seriously drastic, something I’ve never done before and she will not like it.”

“Who said you get to do anything?” Mycroft demanded. “I raised her!”

“And we agreed I was taking over on that score Mycroft!”

“Boys,” Mrs. Hudson said sternly. “This is a hospital, keep your voices down. You can sort out who is doing what and when later. Now is not the time.”

The Holmes brothers nodded, though they looked less than pleased about the fact that she had a point.

“She will be well, won’t she?” Mrs. Hudson whispered to John.

“God I hope so. I’ve never been so scared in my entire life and I’ve been bloody shot in combat,” John whispered back.

“It’s always that way with our loved ones,” she said knowingly.

\-------------------------------

A while later, Lestrade wandered into the waiting room with a tray of coffee. “How is she? Have you heard anything?”

“She’s in surgery, that’s all we know,” John told him.

“He’d been stalking her for weeks Lestrade. _Weeks_. And she never told anyone,” Sherlock explained. “Not a single one of us.”

Lestrade let out a sigh and sat down in one of the chairs. “Kids today. Think themselves invincible. It’s bloody annoying,” he commented before taking a drink of his coffee. “She’ll be alright though, yeah?”

All eyes turned to John once more for his opinion as a doctor. “She lost a lot of blood,” John admitted. “And got stabbed in the chest; it went into her lung. That’s about all I can tell you. I was just trying to stop the bleeding from her neck and chest and keep her calm.” The terror in her eyes, the sounds of her struggling to get in enough oxygen, he’d never forget it.

“Things are uh… sorted out,” Lestrade told Mycroft quietly. “You can pick up your gun in a few days.” Lestrade knew damn well that the gun did not belong to Mycroft at all. He didn’t even know if Mycroft knew how to shoot! He had his suspicions, but Mycroft at least had the government clearance to avoid problems over the incident, particularly in consideration of the circumstances. He was certain the gun belonged to either John or Sherlock, but wasn’t going to ask either of them about it.

A set of doors opened and a doctor emerged, looked around, and came towards them. “Are you here for the stabbing victim?”

Sherlock nodded. “Our sister.”

“How is she?” Mycroft asked.

 “First, let me say that she’ll be alright,” the doctor said.

There was a huge sigh of relief the group let out, almost in tandem with one another.

“But she did have quite a bit of blood loss,” the doctor continued. “An artery in her neck was nicked and the chest injury collapsed her lung. We went in and repaired the hole, and suctioned the air and fluid out to re-inflate the lung. She also required blood transfusions. There were also injuries to her arms and hands but are minor injuries, which have been sutured as needed. Everything else looks normal, her heart never stopped beating, she’s stable, and will recover quite well, with minimal scarring.”

“Can we see her?” Mycroft asked.

The doctor nodded. “She’s out of recovery and we’re moving her to a room. She isn’t awake just yet and depending on how well she tolerates pain medication, she might sleep for a good while.”

Sherlock nodded. “But she’ll wake up?”

“Yes, she’ll wake up. I have no doubt of that,” the doctor assured him. “If you’ll wait here just a few more minutes, I’ll have a nurse bring you to her room. Family members only please. How many of you are family members?”

“Three, there’s three of us,” Sherlock stated firmly, indicating himself, Mycroft and John.

For a moment, the doctor looked a little doubtful; after all John looked nothing like them. Then he nodded. “Alright. Someone will be back out to get you in a few minutes.”

\-----------------------

The three men stayed huddled around Rose’s bed inside her hospital room for hours, fighting the urge to sleep. Their bodies were tired, especially Sherlock’s since it had been two days since he’d last slept. They couldn’t rest, wouldn’t rest, until Rose woke up. She’d woken up in the recovery room, the nurses had told them, but the medication they’d given her had put her right back out again, and so they waited.

Just before dawn Rose began to stir, her eyes fluttering open and closed a few times before the room came into focus. Her whole body tensed as she recalled the attack, trying to reconcile how she had gotten from that to this room, clearly in hospital. She tried to sit up and get her bearings about her, but a hand gently pushed her back down. She turned her head in the direction the hand had come from.

“Shhh,” Mycroft soothed. “It’s alright now, Rose. You’re in hospital and we’re all here with you. Lie down like a good girl. You’ve been hurt, but you’re going to be just fine.” He took her hand and squeezed it gently.

“I’m not dead?” Rose asked.

“No, you’re not,” Sherlock added, moving his chair closer to the bed.

John followed suit. “How are you, love? In any pain? You look so much better.” When they’d first been taken to her room, Rose had been so pale it was alarming. Now she had some color in her cheeks again.

“You’re ok!” Rose exclaimed upon seeing John. “You didn’t get hurt? You’re really alright?”

“Lie back down,” Mycroft said firmly, pressing on her shoulder once more.

“Course I am,” John replied. He reached out to gently rub Rose’s cheek with his hand, smiling adoringly at her. He could hardly believe that she was here and alive and would be just fine. “You have no idea how glad we are that you’re alright. You silly girl,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her forehead.

“Do you not see that I’m here John?” Sherlock asked impatiently as his friend leaned across him.

“Sorry,” John responded, sitting back down.

Rose smiled softly in Sherlock’s direction.

Sherlock scooted his chair over a bit to make it easier for John to sit by the bed, rather than lean over him in that obnoxious manner. Once that was completed he turned his full attention to Rose, looking her up and down, as if unable to be sure that she was okay. “Are you hurting? Feel any pain?”

“My head,” she admitted, reaching up with her free hand to rub her forehead. That was when she caught sight of stitches and sutures on her arms and could feel something stitched on her forehead as well. “Oh my god,” Rose whispered, looking absolutely horrified. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” she kept repeating.

Sherlock’s heart broke for her as he watched her eyes widen and fill with terror as she saw some of her injuries for the first time. He reached out and began to stroke her hair. “Rose, you’re alright. All that will heal. You’re alright. No one is going to hurt you ever again,” he said quietly.

“But he’s out there! It’s Mark, Sherlock, its Mark from the coffee shop by Scotland Yard! Don’t let him come get me!” Rose pleaded, working herself into a panic.

“He’s dead Rose. Mark is dead and won’t hurt you or anyone else ever again,” Sherlock said. His tone was sharp, trying to get her attention through her rising panic.  He saw John get up and leave the room, but kept his focus on his sister. “Rose. _Rosenwyn_. You have to stop. You’re alright, I promise you, you’re alright.”

As Rose started to cry, a nurse bustled in and put a sedative in her IV.

\-------------------------

A few hours later, Rose woke up once again. She didn’t feel disoriented or frightened this time. In fact, she felt warm and safe, almost as if she were being cuddled.

“Awake again?” John asked softly. “Your brothers fell asleep.”

Rose looked up at him and discovered that she was in fact being cuddled. The empty bed in the room had been pushed up next to hers and John was sitting on it, leaning over slightly onto her bed and had an arm around her, cuddling her to his side.

“This is a nice way to wake up,” she decided.

John smiled. “Good, that’s what I was hoping for. I didn’t want you waking up frightened again. Came up with the idea after your brothers left me to my thoughts.”

“Will the nurses get on you about it?”

“Doubt it, so long as I move away when they need me to. Do you want me to wake Sherlock?” John asked. “I know he’d happily take my spot.”

Rose looked over at both Sherlock and Mycroft. They were exhausted, and when Sherlock actually _looked_ exhausted, that was saying something. “No, they should sleep. You’re sure you’re alright John? You didn’t get hurt?”

“No, love, I didn’t get hurt. Not even a scratch,” he assured her.

She rested her head against his chest and fell silent for a moment. “Am I going to be okay? Truly ok? Am I going to be all scarred? Can I dance again?”

“Shh,” John said firmly. “Slow down love, don’t get upset. Yes, you will be fine and yes, you can dance again. You’ll need to rest up a bit first so your body can recover, but you’ll be alright. I don’t think you’ll end up with that many scars either. Nearly everything should heal nicely.”

“Is he really dead?”

“He is, thank god,” he told her emphatically before kissing the top of her head. “Try not to think about him, if you can. Don’t force yourself to think about any of it. It’ll all come back to you when it’s ready and don’t be frightened when it does. Sherlock, Mycroft and I are all here for you. We always are love, and it’s easier for us to help you when you tell us there’s a problem, yeah?” John kept his tone gentle and quiet, knowing there would be ample opportunity for scolding at a more appropriate time.

“So you found out,” she murmured.

“We did, yeah,” John confirmed. There was little sense in hiding it from her and if she needed to talk just then, it was better that she feel free to say whatever she wished, rather than worry about giving something away.

“I didn’t know who it was,” Rose admitted. “And I never would have thought it was Mark. He seemed so nice and I really thought he might be interested in me, you know? Louise did too. It never crossed my mind that he was the one texting me and writing me letters.”

John’s eyebrows went up. Determined to not upset Rose, he took a minute to calm himself before responding. “Someone was texting you as well?”

She nodded. “I blocked the number, and then the letters came.”

He closed his eyes and felt a tremor of fear wash over him. She _knew_ she’d been followed, she received texts in addition to letters, and she’d never told a soul. At any time, that lunatic could have taken her and done God knew what with her, and she would have been completely alone. John thanked his lucky stars that hadn’t happened and he’d been there last night, when she’d needed someone the very most.

Rose looked up at him, watching with anxious eyes as a wealth of emotions played across his face. “John? Are you alright?”

“I’m realizing how lucky we are to still have you here with us,” John responded truthfully. “So very, very lucky.” He wanted to wrap both arms around her, hold her as tight as he could, and never let go.


	16. The Long Road to Recovery, Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve had many requests for the story of Rose’s disappearance over night when she was 16 that’s been referenced to several times, so I’m writing a prequel! That will be the next thing I post, so keep an eye out for it! It is, as yet, untitled.
> 
> Sorry for the post, takedown, and repost. Part of the chapter got cut off during the original upload and I didn’t catch it straightaway. Having a day of epic fails.

It was decided, without consulting Rose, that the three men in her life would take shifts staying with her at the hospital. None of them was eager to let her be alone and Rose had to admit, upon hearing their plan, that she had no objections. Just then she’d rather not be so independent. Thus it was with great surprise that her doctor found Rose alone in her room, reading a magazine.

“Good afternoon,” he greeted her. “Are you on your own today?”

Rose shook her head. “No, Mycroft’s arguing with someone on his mobile. I’m presuming someone important since he helped himself to the room next door.”

“Should we wait, or can I get on with my check-up?”

“We’re safe to go ahead. He’ll be back soon and I can fill him in,” Rose assured the physician.

_In the Room Next Door_

“I said no, and I meant no,” Mycroft hissed into his phone. “My sister was nearly murdered; I am staying with her as much as she needs me too. When was the last time I ever took a personal day? The answer is never! Unless the nation is absolutely at risk and there is no alternative the answer is still no.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let’s play pretend, shall we? Pretend that you’re the prime minister and can actually do your job all by yourself for a few days!”

_Back in Rose’s Room_

“Things are progressing nicely. I’m quite pleased,” the physician admitted. “Provided everything continues to go as well, I don’t see why we cannot release you tomorrow afternoon. In the meantime, I’d like you to start doing some walking around here. Walk as much as you like today. Be sure to rest if you get winded or feel in any pain, but I’m not limiting your distance or number of walks.”

Rose rewarded the man with a big smile. “That’s really good news. I feel better than yesterday. Not as tired and no more panic about the injuries.”

“The vast majority of them will heal with minimal to no scarring,” the doctor assured her. “And those that do scar won’t be easily seen or particularly distressing. Now, up you get, do some walking. I’ll check back before the end of my shift.”

As soon as the physician left, Rose decided to do precisely as she’d been told and take a walk. She eased herself off the bed and put on the silly socks with the grip on the bottom of them and exited her room. She could hear Mycroft shouting with someone on the phone still and wondered if it was still the Prime Minister or not. Shaking her head, she started off down the hallway.

“Here now! Where are you going?” A familiar voice called out to her. Rose stopped and turned, giving John a little smile. “The doctor said I should be up and walking as much as I’d like, so long as I take breaks if I get winded or start hurting.”

He nodded, returning her smile. “Mind if I walk with you?” It wasn’t that he doubted the doctor’s recommendation; John would have made the same one himself. Rather, it was the fact that John wasn’t ready to let her out of his, or someone’s, sight just yet.

“Sure,” Rose agreed. “Want to hold my hand too?” Her tone was light, almost nervous as she held out her hand.

“I’d love too.” Smiling, John reached for her hand and interlaced their fingers, holding it gently.

The two walked in companionable silence for several minutes until finally John spoke. “Are you alright, love? You’re awfully quiet. Making me worried,” he admitted.

“I suppose I’m alright,” Rose answered with a sigh.

John was instantly alarmed. “Are you having trouble breathing? Is your chest hurting?” Her breathing sounded fine, but he couldn’t be one hundred percent sure.

“No, no, nothing like that,” she hurried to assure him. “Let’s keep walking.” Rose nudged his arm gently. “I can’t find the words to say what I want to say and it’s going to be awkward for me until I say them.”

He squeezed her hand gently. “Try anyway. I may not have the sort of mind that Sherlock does, but I’ve been told by reliable sources that I’m at least reasonably intelligent.” John gave her a wink, trying to set her at ease with a bit of teasing.

“I don’t know how to say thank you for saving my life. Or how to apologize for lying to you for weeks, promising I was alright, even when I wasn’t,” she said quietly.

“Oh love,” John sighed. “You really want to talk about this now? Here?” He could practically feel the anxiety coming off her in waves. “There’s a lounge up ahead. Let’s go there and get a cuppa, then talk a bit, yeah?”

Rose nodded and allowed him to lead the way to the lounge. When they arrived, she helped herself to a cup of coffee while John chose tea. They selected a couple of chairs by a window and settled in.

“Let me start by saying you don’t need to thank me, or feel indebted to me in any way for saving your life,” John said sincerely. “I’m just glad I was there when you needed me and knew how to help.”

“John, you killed a man for me,” she whispered.

“Sherlock told you, didn’t he?”

She nodded.

“I told him not to; git,” John grumbled. “Yes, I did kill him. It was him or you and there was no way in hell I was letting him kill you. I’d never let anyone hurt you, _ever._ And he wasn’t my first, not by a long shot.”

“Afghanistan,” she said quietly.

“Right. There’s been more than I’d like there to have been, but there you are. I don’t regret what I did and I’d do it again. I’d really prefer it not come to that though,” John admitted. “I’d like you to take better care of yourself and keep us apprised of what’s going on with you. I’d also like to think you’ll be honest with me from now on. I don’t like being lied to, especially by people I care about and that very much includes you.”

“I know,” Rose replied, her face reddening. “I’m so sorry I lied to you. It was incredibly stupid, and my reasons for it were stupid as well. I won’t make that mistake again.”

“Now that you’re back, you’re not alone in the world anymore. Remember that, yeah?” John reminded her. “Let us help you if you’re in trouble.”

“No more lies, I promise. Can you ever forgive me?” Rose’s question was posed in earnest and her anxiety of what his response might be reflected in her eyes.

Overcome by the urge to hug her close, John took her hands and gently pulled her out of her chair and onto his lap. “Do you really even need to ask that, love? Of course I forgive you.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “But it best not happen again, yeah? I can’t promise I won’t give you a good spanking if you lie to me again about something so important.”

Blushing once more, Rose nodded, taking his words for what they were: a warning. “I understand,” she assured him. “And it won’t come to that; promise.”

“That’s my good girl.”

“Hmph. Your good girl wants her coffee back. Reach it over or let me up,” Rose laughed. “I haven’t had any since breakfast and it’s high time I enjoy it. And you won’t get me back to that bed until I have a second cup, though I am willing to make it a takeaway cup.”

Laughing, John leaned across the table to retrieve her cup. “I’d say you’re well on your way back to health if you’re already issuing demands in that cheeky tone of yours.”

Rose took a long, fortifying drink of her coffee. “Mycroft and Sherlock have been very tight lipped about what they’re going to do with me and I’m not stupid enough to think that means they have no intentions of having at me for the all the secrecy.”

“You’re quite right on that, but I can’t tell you what their plans are. They’ve done a lot of whispering with their heads together. Though I think it’s safe to say that Sherlock has talked Mycroft out of procuring an underground bunker to put you in for safe keeping,” John admitted.

“Mycroft is always saying ridiculous things like that,” Rose groaned. “He gets all dramatic and blustery. Always been that way.”

“They were so scared for you Rose. We all were,” he reminded her gently.

“I was scared for me too,” she admitted. “But not until that last letter. I really thought if I just ignored it, it would go away and if I took rides places I’d be fine. Lord, my brothers are going to kill me.”

“They’ll have to wait a bit. You need your rest, no strenuous activity,” John pointed out. “So they’ll wait until I say differently. Health comes first, no matter how much you deserve a smacked bottom.”

Rose blushed and looked around, discovering that, thankfully, they were alone. “We should probably head back. Mycroft has to be done scolding the Prime Minister by now and wondering where I am.”

“Mycroft was scolding the _Prime Minister_?” John asked, dumbfounded.

“Yes. Apparently there are several people in our government, the prime minister included, that object to my brother having some personal days to hover over me. They can’t seem to manage all by themselves. You’d think Mycroft would be more appreciative of my independence given their tendencies to cling,” Rose pointed out.

John shook his head, chuckling. “Get your second cup of coffee and we’ll head back to your room.”

\-------------------------

When they arrived back at her hospital room, Mycroft was finally off the phone, looking bored as they entered.

“Look at you, a whole mobile garden all your own,” John said with a laugh. “I’m gone eight hours and suddenly room is bursting at the seams with flowers.”

“I’m quite popular I guess,” Rose commented. “Never realized. The dance studio sent me those,” she indicated a vase full of carnations. “Louise stopped by with chocolates. She knows me well. Mycroft gave me the yellow roses, which are quite lovely.  Lestrade’s department sent the tulips; Mrs. Hudson brought the daisies and chocolate scones.”

“Didn’t Sherlock get you anything?” John asked, frowning. Sometimes that man was quite thoughtless about appropriate social conventions. Someone you like is in hospital for a stay, you send flowers. Then again, he hadn’t known the planets circled the sun, so perhaps this wasn’t all that surprising.

“Did _you_ bring something, Dr. Watson?” Mycroft asked an eyebrow arching.

“I did, in fact,” John responded. “But Rose was out walking, so I hadn’t the chance to give it to her yet.”

“Sit down Rose, or lie down, please. You’ve had plenty of exercise for the moment.” Though Mycroft’s words were a directive, his tone was full of concern and, to his surprise; Rose complied, settling back down on the hospital bed.

John reached for the bag he had placed on the end of the bed and handed it to her. “This is what I brought. Not flowers, obviously, but I hope you’ll like it.”

“I’m sure I will,” Rose murmured. She opened the plain brown bag and spotted a pair of fuzzy feet. Frowning, she took hold of one of them and pulled the item out of the bag, to find a teddy bear. It was dressed in a Red Cross nurse’s kit, complete with hat and cape. “Is this is a World War I uniform?” she asked, lightly touching the outfit.

“That I’m not sure,” John admitted. “Looks like it but I’m no expert. You don’t already have one like this do you? I made Sherlock look before I went round to that specialty shop that does these and he said he didn’t see any nurse bears in your collection.”

“I don’t, no! No nurse bears at all. I almost don’t know what to say. She’s so sweet and the detail of the uniform is so incredible. Quite accurate, which is hard to find,” Rose murmured, inspecting the outfit closely.

“I didn’t realize you still collected bears, Rose,” Mycroft murmured.

“I’ve never stopped,” she admitted.

“Sherlock said she’d been doing it for years and that’s why they’re all over her flat,” John added. “It seemed fitting, given the circumstances.”

“She’s lovely; so thoughtful,” Rose said. She waved John over and rewarded him with a hug. “Thank you. I’ll find a lovely spot for her when I get home.” Already she had an inkling of where the new addition could sit, on the nightstand in her bedroom.

“Well, I believe I’ll take my leave then since you are here,” Mycroft said. “Contact me if you’d like me to come back before it’s my turn again Rose. Otherwise, I’m going to have a shower and sleep.”

“I will,” she promised. As he got up, she reached out and tugged on his arm. “I want a hug first. Just be gentle with my arms.”

Mycroft looked at her closely, as if trying to read something in her face or eyes. “You’re certain you don’t need me to stay?”

“No. Go home and rest, you’ve earned it. You haven’t left my side in well over a day and I’m well out of danger,” Rose promised.

Mycroft nodded, knowing she was right, but feeling reluctant to leave all the same.

“Or you could stay, if you’d prefer,” she said quietly.

“Clearly he does prefer,” Sherlock commented as he entered the room.

“Oh lord Sherlock, you’ve only been gone three hours. What happened to that nice schedule you three told me about, so you could get some sleep and a shower,” Rose pointed out.

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders just a bit. “Sleep is boring. And I’m precisely where I need, and want, to be.”

\-----------------------

“I said no, I meant no, now sit,” Sherlock said sternly. “Sit in the wheelchair Rose, or I’ll make them admit you again.”

“Sherlock! I can walk, I’m ok to walk. The doctor even said so. Surely I can walk out to Mycroft’s car on my own,” Rose pointed out.

“I’m not interested. Sit. Down,” Sherlock ground out. “So we can take you home.”

Rose let out a frustrated sigh.

“John, assistance, if you’d be so kind.”

“Seriously? Rose, you can’t just do as you’re told for once? No, no, that would be too easy, wouldn’t it,” John commented with a sigh of his own.

“He’s going to use that captain tone in a moment,” Sherlock told his sister.

“You think so?” Rose looked at John out of the corner of her eye.

“I do.”

John gave her a stern look and raised an eyebrow.

Rose sat down.

“This is going to be an excruciatingly long recovery isn’t it?” Sherlock asked his friend.

“Unfortunately, given your sister’s nature- which is quite like your own- I think that it will be,” John admitted.

“And his sister would like you to stop talking about her as if she was not here,” Rose commented. “Are we leaving or aren’t we?”

The two friends chuckled and Sherlock stepped behind the wheelchair to push it. “We’re leaving,” he assured her.

\----------------------------

“Why do I feel like I’m on trial here?” Rose asked quietly. At present she was finding the socks on her feet very interesting.

Upon arriving back at Baker Street, a family meeting of sorts had been called in Sherlock and John’s sitting room. They occupied their usual chairs while Mycroft and Rose claimed the couch. All eyes were on her and though she wasn’t looking at anyone, she could _feel_ them watching her.

“Perhaps, sister dear, because you are?” Mycroft quipped.

“That’s unkind, My,” she grumbled.

“But also accurate,” Sherlock added. “We’re all looking for an explanation of your completely idiotic responses, or lack thereof, to being bloody _stalked_. Have you not noticed what I do for living, Rosenwyn? I catch murderers, which should indicate to you that the world is not full of goodness and sunshine and little children frolicking in the park--”

“I know Sher--”

“Be _QUIET_!” He snarled. “I didn’t ask you to speak just yet. You will listen!”

She visibly shrank a little in her seat and nodded.

“This is going to go marvelously well, isn’t it?” John commented under his breath.

“The world is in fact very much populated with people that kill other people for any number of reasons,” Sherlock continued on. “You’re an adult now Rosenwyn and should very well know that problems do not just go away on their own, especially not problems that pose a potential threat to your safety.”

“I didn’t think--” Rose tried to interject.

“That, Rosenwyn Aramantha Holmes, is the understatement of the century!” Sherlock practically jumped out of his chair and began pacing around the sitting room. “It is abundantly obvious that you were not thinking about anything at all.”

“I WAS!” she shouted, daring to look up at him now.

“Sherlock, go easy,” John warned firmly. The last thing he wanted was Rose to start crying and then have trouble breathing.

“I will _not_ go easy. You were very nearly killed, Rosenwyn. Taken from us forever!”

“Do you think I don’t know that?!” Rose screeched at him. It was high-pitched enough that Sherlock stopped in his tracks and watched her face grow red.

“He put a knife to my throat!” She screamed. “He tackled me and sat on me and STABBED me! I thought I was going to die! If you think I haven’t seen the error of my ways, you are very sadly mistaken Sherlock!” Putting a hand to her throat, where she’d been cut, Rose burst into tears.

Stunned by her sudden screaming and tears, Sherlock stood there for a moment in shock.

“Brilliant Sherlock. That’s precisely what I wanted to avoid,” John grumbled, getting out of his chair.

Before John could cross the room to console her, since Sherlock was making no attempts to do so, Rose closed the distance between herself and Mycroft and helped herself to his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck as she sobbed on his shoulder.

Mycroft froze the moment she sat on his lap, eyes wide, looking completely out of his depth. He looked at Sherlock who rolled his eyes at him.

‘Hug her,’ he mouthed.

Mycroft continued to stare like a deer caught in headlights, caught completely off guard by this whole scenario.

Rolling his eyes once more, Sherlock moved his arms, gesturing how Mycroft should hold her. ‘Hold her. Do it,’ he mouthed.

Slowly Mycroft raised his arms and wrapped them around her. Once he did, it was as if he remembered how to cuddle suddenly, after so much time had passed since he’d last cuddled her close.

While Mycroft held her, Sherlock sat down at the other end of the couch. He could feel John scowling at him and he knew he deserved it. It had been too much, too soon, even if every word had been true and something he felt she needed to hear.

‘It’s not working,’ Mycroft mouthed at him over Rose’s head.

“Oh you two really are ridiculous, aren’t you?” John grumbled, crossing the room. “Give her here, she needs to calm down. She can’t do this right now. Or at least turn her around to look at me.”

Seeing the concern on John’s face, Mycroft nudged Rose and scooted her around a bit so she could look at John.

“Love, you’ve got to stop. I know you’re upset and you’ve every right to be,” John said soothingly. “I don’t want you back in hospital, so you need to stop. Please Rose, you’ve got to stop crying. Take a deep breath. I’ll do it with you, yeah? Come on.”

Together they took several deep breaths, or at least as deep as Rose could manage with her recovering lung, and she managed to calm down. “Good girl,” he praised, kissing her forehead. “I think its nap time for you, love.”

Sherlock snorted at the look on Rose’s face, which immediately lightened the mood a bit.

“Despite all the evidence to the contrary, I’m not a baby,” Rose said softly, drying her face with Mycroft’s handkerchief. She was relieved to see Sherlock relax a bit and felt some of the tension drain out of her.

“I’m not saying you are,” John soothed. “But you can’t do that again. Your lung isn’t up to shouting and crying so hard right now and I’m not certain I trust either of your brothers to not upset you again.”

“I didn’t say a word,” Mycroft protested.

John rewarded the man with a hard look. “That is exactly my point.” He quickly turned his attention back to Rose. “No arguing, doctor’s orders. I’m tucking you into Sherlock’s bed.”

“She has her own bed,” Sherlock commented.

“Your opinion hasn’t been asked for Sherlock Holmes. If you don’t want her to sleep in your bed, you shouldn’t have shouted at her. Now she’s staying here, in your bed, until I say different,” John stated.

Rose poked her brother and said, “He’s going to become Captain Watson on you. Then you’ll really be in trouble.” She gave him a weak smile, which grew into a full smile when Sherlock chuckled and shook his head before reaching for her hand and squeezing it gently.

“I’m clearly missing something here,” Mycroft commented.

“Yes, but we aren’t telling you,” Rose hurried to answer him. “John I’m not tired and lying in bed is so boring.”

“Well that’s unfortunate. If you go in nicely and let me fuss over you I’ll bring you a book,” he offered. “But only if you do as I say.”

“Alright,” she agreed with a sigh. Now that Rose was calm and the tension had ebbed away from the room, she actually was a bit tired. There was no way she’d admit it though!

John gave her a smile, helped her up, and escorted her into Sherlock’s room. He pulled back the bed covers and waited for her to climb in before tucking them in snuggly around her.

“John? Thank you,” she said softly.

“For what love?”

“For what you did in there; calm us down,” Rose told him, meaning herself and Sherlock.

“You’re very welcome. I’m glad I was here. I had a feeling it would go poorly,” he admitted. “Though I didn’t see Sherlock as the one lashing out like that. I had Mycroft pegged.”

“Me too,” she admitted. “That was really odd.”

“Don’t worry about it anymore. You just rest for now; we’ll sort it all out later. After all, you’re not going anywhere,” he pointed out with a smile. John watched Rose fight to keep her eyes open and chuckled. “No book for you. Sleep. I’ll leave the door open a bit, call if you need me, yeah?”

“Mmm,” was the only response he had as Rose closed her eyes again. He pressed a kiss to her forehead before exiting the bedroom.

“That, gentlemen, was very well done,” John scolded. “I told you both you had to be careful with her. She’s not up for this. Discussions, ones with talking, don’t need to include shouting and provoking her into hysterics. You’re lucky she didn’t end up back in hospital Sherlock.”

“I know,” he admitted. “I got carried away.”

“It’s not going to happen again. I won’t allow it. Her best interests come before your need to shout or bellow or anything else. I said it at hospital and I’ll say it again to you both: neither of you are doing _anything_ until I say differently.” John squared his shoulders and gave both Holmes brothers a very stern look. “Am I clear?”

“Very,” Mycroft stated. “We can wait.”

Sherlock nodded his agreement. “I didn’t mean to upset her. I hadn’t considered she’d react so strongly.”

John rolled his eyes. Sometimes it was completely unfathomable that someone as brilliant as Sherlock was did not understand something as basic as human emotions.

“Clearly you didn’t. I know it wasn’t your intention to upset her so badly,” John admitted. “But it can’t happen again. Now, I’m going to make a cuppa. Anyone want one? Then we really need to sit down and figure out what we _are_ going to do with her when she’s well. Or, if you two have decided already, I’d like to hear the plan.”

“We’re going to spank her. That’s the plan,” Sherlock said.

“We?”

“We,” Mycroft confirmed. “Sherlock and I think she needs a firm response from us both. Nothing over the top,” he assured John. “I’ll be giving her a hand spanking and Sherlock will finish up from there.”

John looked at his flat mate, an eyebrow quirked.

Sherlock looked distinctly uncomfortable, but nodded. “With a strap. Just a dozen though.”

John let out a low whistle. “Won’t be nice, but she deserves it. And there will be a calm conversation discussing all this first, yeah?”

Another nod.

“Do you… own a strap?” John asked suddenly.

Now it was Mycroft’s turn to look a bit uncomfortable. “I do.”

Both eyebrows went up this time. “Rose wasn’t kidding,” he murmured to himself.

Mycroft frowned. “Explain, please.”

“You’ve got an arsenal of nasty things,” he chuckled. “Rose told me you did and I didn’t quite believe  her.”

Mycroft’s eyebrow rose. “I raised him, after all,” he stated, indicating Sherlock. “And that’s where all of it came from. He was, well… unmanageable. Had to figure out what worked.”

John laughed as Sherlock blushed bright red. “I can believe that, I really can.” He chuckled again before sobering. “Well, I don’t pose any objections, provided you two wait until she’s better first. Unfortunately, I have a feeling her recovery process is going to be very difficult… for us.”

Both Holmes brothers nodded in agreement.

“And thus the long road of recovery begins,” Mycroft stated before giving a resigned sigh. God help Sherlock and John, he thought to himself. It was going to be very rough road indeed.


	17. The Long Road to Recovery, Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prequel has been posted under the title "Raising a Wildflower." I have decided to turn that into a depository for one-shot fics about Rose's growing years, whenever I have plot bunnies that strike me!

It was 7:30 and the flat was blissfully quiet. Sherlock was even asleep! With any luck he’d sleep another hour or so and John could enjoy the silence of the morning. And then he heard footsteps on the stairs and the door opened. He looked up from his newspaper and sighed. “You could text, you know. Or at least knock.”

“I wouldn’t hold out any hope for that if I were you, John,” Mycroft retorted.

John rolled his eyes. “If you’re going to grace us with your presence so early, you could at least bring breakfast. However, since you are here, help yourself to some tea.”

Mycroft nodded and entered the kitchen to fix a cup of tea.

“Come to plague us with your presence?” Sherlock grumbled as he entered the sitting room and caught sight of his brother.

“Good to see you brother. You look awful,” Mycroft commented smugly.

Sherlock scowled. “The lie-low and I don’t get on.”

“Perhaps you should purchase bunk beds then.”

“You’re an idiot. Go home Mycroft.”

“And you two are a bit much in the morning,” John pointed out. “She still asleep?”

“Yes.” In actuality, Sherlock didn’t begrudge giving his bed up for Rose. It was an easy sacrifice to make for her, given her recent trauma and just being out of hospital. He was more than willing to keep her closer and watch over her, even if that relegated him to the lie-low.

\---------------------------

It was hot. _So_ hot. It burned her flesh before digging in deeply. She gasped and clutched at her chest, feeling warm blood spill out. It was covering her and she could hardly breathe, let alone call for help. Her face felt warm and wet and she was shaking.

No, she wasn’t actually shaking; Rose was being shook.

“Rose! Rose, wake up!” She could hear Mycroft’s stern voice issuing the order. “It was a bad dream, wake up now!”

“Do you have sedatives?” Sherlock whispered to John.

The doctor shook his head no. “I was hoping we wouldn’t need them.”

“ROSENWYN!” Mycroft bellowed.

Suddenly she jerked awake, her eyes opening wide before rapidly blinking. The faces of three very concerned men, her ‘boys’ as she affectionately thought of them, were looking down at her.

“It was hot and I was wet and I could feel the blood and it went in.” Rose said in a rush before bursting into a fresh wave of tears.

Sherlock moved to sit on the bed beside her, but Mycroft frowned and waved him away. He stood aside, watching to see what his elder brother would do.

With an ease that surprised them all, Mycroft lifted Rose off the bed and sat down, holding her on his lap. While he may have been caught unaware by her sudden need for comfort the day before, when Mycroft was prepared for it, he could in fact cuddle, even if it felt slightly awkward at times. This time it didn’t.

“There there,” he soothed. “You’re alright Poppet, I’ve got you. No one is going to hurt you ever again, I promise. It was a bad dream, but you’re alright. I’m here and you’re here and safe and Sherlock and John are here too.” Mycroft looked up at the other men and motioned with his head for them to leave. The brothers shared a look before Sherlock nodded and left, with John following behind.

“My, I felt it, I felt all the blood and my chest and I’m so scared My, I’m scared!” Rose sobbed out, clinging to him.

Mindful of her injuries, Mycroft held her as tightly as he could. “You have to calm down Poppet. John’s going to come back in here and get fussy with you if you don’t,” he pointed out in a soft, soothing tone. “You’re on the mend but we must take care of that lung. There’s nothing to be scared of anymore. It was just a dream, no one is here to hurt you, I promise Poppet.”

He began carding his hand through her curly hair, remembering she’d liked that when she was younger. Apparently she still did and Mycroft was relieved to see her calming down and attempting to take deep breaths. “Good girl,” he murmured. “I’m so sorry Rose; so sorry.”

The room was quiet for a few moments and he was almost convinced she’d fallen asleep again when Rose finally spoke. “What are you sorry for? You didn’t give me a nightmare,” she felt compelled to point out.

“I know. But I wasn’t there,” Mycroft admitted. “I wasn’t there and you were hurt. I should have been there.”

Rose frowned. “None of that was your fault. It was mine. I was the idiot who didn’t tell anyone what was going on. You were just being a good big brother and not spying on me or hacking my phone or anything else that you used to do. I’m the one that kept you from being there.”

“I have the sneaking suspicion that if I hadn’t done all those things in the past that you would have come to me sooner for help.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that, particularly since it was true, and Rose really had to think about what to say. Her silence, however, confirmed that he was right.

“You always did your best Mycroft,” Rose finally said. “You were trying to watch out for me. I understand that now, but I couldn’t before I left.”

“Because you felt I was trying to control you,” Mycroft stated. He’d suspected that was the reason from the moment she’d disappeared.

Rose nodded. “Yes, that’s precisely what I thought. Even though I know differently now, I didn’t want us to go back to that same place, where you were the concerned and suspicious brother and I was the bratty and uncontrollable little sister. That’s why I didn’t reach out until I got really scared.”

Mycroft pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I only wanted to protect you. Someday, if you have children of your own, you’ll understand how scary it is to see them going out in the world doing who knows what. It was worse for me because I know precisely how terrible the world can be.”

He closed his eyes, waiting for her to remind him, once again, that he wasn’t her father. Despite that being the case, it hurt each time she said it. Rose was the closest thing to his own child he’d ever have. But, she didn’t. When Mycroft opened his eyes, he saw the quiet tears trailing down her face. “What’s this about?” he questioned, reaching for his handkerchief.

“I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry Mycroft.”

“Poppet, I know you are. I know you’ll never keep something like this from us again.”

She shook her head. “Not that.”

He gently dried her face, frowning as he tried to think of what she meant. “Then for what?”

“For hurting you, when I left,” Rose whispered. “Which doesn’t mean I think its all fine for you to hack my phone and spy on me and all that other nonsense. But I never stopped to think how much it would hurt you when I left. I knew it would hurt Sherlock, but I didn’t think about you.”

Mycroft tutted. “Don’t worry about that now, Poppet. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Yes, it does,” Rose said firmly. “For all your obnoxious habits, My… I’m trying to think of the right words. You just… You were good. You did good.”

“I did good at what, precisely? I’m not quite following you.”

She groaned. “Sometimes you’re very dense My. Should have known I’d have to spell it out for you. You were good… at…at being a dad/brother combination. Which is a really awkward way to phrase it, I admit that. You just did a really good job being my dad without actually being my dad. I get that now, now that I’ve been out in the world and all that. I suppose you’re as good as any old dad, I bet.”

 “That’s a terrible thing to tease about Rose,” Mycroft replied quietly, not believing she was serious.

“I’m not teasing,” she replied, shifting so she could look up at him. “I mean that. You were still a git sometimes, still are sometimes, but I really do mean that.”

He felt a lump in his throat and tried hard to swallow it so he could respond. “Why tell me this now?” he finally asked.

“Because I didn’t know how to bring it up before I suppose,” Rose told him with a sigh. “Guess it took nearly dying for me to decide I should probably tell you. Don’t get too excited about it though! You’re still an idiot sometimes and you’re still annoying and all those things that big brothers are. I just recognize the other stuff too.”

Mycroft looked puzzled, then threw back his head and laughed. “Only in this family do you tell someone you love them and then proceed to call them an idiot. And I tried _so_ hard to make you normal.”

“Well, that clearly failed,” Rose snickered. “And it’s okay that we aren’t a normal family. Normal is boring. Don’t forget though, you still annoy me just the way a big brother should. This little fluffy moment of ours just now changes nothing, just so you’re aware. I’m not buying you a card come Father’s Day or anything. We’re still us, just as we always were.”

“Meaning what, exactly?”

“I still completely resent you for thinking you’ve a right to spank me when I’m almost twenty and I’ll still throw things at you when you’re mean and I’ll have a tantrum if you hack my mobile or laptop,” she answered.

“Ah, I see. Well I still think you’re a horrid little brat who is too old to throw anything and shouldn’t threaten a tantrum in the same sentence as protesting your coming spanking,” Mycroft quipped. “Defeats the purpose of your argument, Rosenwyn. See? Nothing’s changed at all. You’ll annoy, I’ll scold, and we’ll go on as we always have.”

“I’m glad. Whatever would I do if I didn’t have you to be annoyed by?”

“And what would I do if I didn’t have you to worry about and scold? I still wish you’d come home though.”

“My! I give you one little compliment and now you want the moon,” Rose replied with a scowl. “Idiot.”

“Beastly child!”

\---------------------------------------

“They’ve been in there a really long time,” Sherlock commented, watching his bedroom door closely.

“She was upset, it’s just fine for them to have a cuddle,” John pointed out.

“Mycroft doesn’t cuddle.”

The doctor rolled his eyes. “Well of _course_ he didn’t cuddle _you_ , Sherlock; you’re _you_. She, on the other hand, is a whole other matter.

“But that’s my job, the cuddle bit,” Sherlock stated with an air of annoyance. Didn’t John _know_ these things?

“Well she almost died Sherlock, what do you expect? Even Mycroft is allowed a bit of sentiment; as strange as that sounds when I say it,” John murmured. It was really hard to imagine Mycroft, of all people, as sentimental, even when it came to Rose.

Before too much longer, Mycroft and Rose emerged from the bedroom. “You always look so _little_ when you first wake up,” Sherlock said with a chuckle. He reached for Rose’s wrist, pulling her closer to him, and then sat her on his lap. “Just like when you were little. Bare feet, sleepy eyes, and a wild mess of curls.”

“No sleepy eyes right now,” Rose murmured. “Been up for a bit. Someone tell me there’s coffee, or there will be shortly?”

John chuckled. “I’ll make you some, love. Breakfast too? We’ve got hash browns and eggs or I can go raid your flat for food.”

“Hash browns with cheese please, unless Sherlock’s done something funny to the cheese again,” Rose decided.

“No, cheese is good, just got it,” John assured her.

“John makes very good breakfasts,” Rose told Mycroft. “I have breakfast here every morning and he almost always has the coffee ready by the time I arrive.”

“I wouldn’t call it an arrival,” Sherlock interjected. “It’s more of a stumble, to the point that it’s a miracle you actually make it inside before you fall over and beg for coffee.”

“I only fell over once,” Rose scolded, lightly smacking his arm. “And that was because you’d left something in the middle of the floor!”

“The coffee table you mean?”

She blushed. “Yes; hate you.”

“Insufferable brat,” he responded playfully before kissing her forehead. “Feeling better?”

“Yes. Mycroft cuddled me and it was nice,” she said with a smile. Rose felt quite content just then, aside from needing her coffee. “Jawwwwwwn!” She called, stretching John’s name out into a bit of a whine. “Is the coffee ready?”

“Demanding little thing, aren’t you?” John responded, laughing. “Yes, it just finished!”

Rose practically bounded off Sherlock’s lap in her eagerness to get to the coffee, narrowly missing the coffee table.

\----------------------------

“Aw, would you look at you lot! You all almost look normal,” Lestrade commented upon his arrival at 221B. “Practically domestic in fact.”

Rose was sprawled out on the couch with a book, her legs across Mycroft’s lap, who was reading the newspaper and ignoring her completely. Sherlock sat at the other end, his leg serving as a pillow while he played with John’s laptop.

“Oh look! A gentleman caller, just for me,” Rose replied dramatically. She grinned and waved Lestrade into the flat.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Rose, really.”

“I am here, just for you,” Greg confirmed. “Certainly wouldn’t be giving these to Sherlock.” He held out a bouquet of a dozen pink roses. “They alright? I texted John but he didn’t know for sure what your favorite color was.”

“Well then you are in luck, because pink is my favorite color,” she told him with a smile. “Come sit. How are you faring without me around?”

“Slightly less lively, miss my coffee deliveries. I _suppose_ I miss you as well. Mostly the coffee though,” he teased.

Rose got up to find a vase for her roses as Lestrade sat on the couch. “Hmm. My caller isn’t much of a gentleman after all,” she quipped. “If you really only miss the coffee rather than my perfectly delightful self.”

Sherlock snorted. “Oh yes, you’re _so_ delightful Rose--”

“When you’re sleeping,” Mycroft finished.

“Well I like her well enough,” Lestrade said, laughing. “Good worker, often amusing, brings me coffee twice a day.”

Rose’s eyebrow quirked. “So I’m essentially a glorified server?”

Lestrade held up his hands in surrender. “That is not at all what I meant, I promise,” he laughed again. Despite the laughter, he quickly sobered and gave her a _look_. “Have they talked to you? About how foolish you were? Do you have any idea what he could have done to you?” he asked quietly.

Rose blushed. “Sort of. Sherlock bellowed yesterday, which was really odd, and then I cried and jumped on Mycroft and frightened him and then John made me take a nap, so…” Her voice trailed off.

“We’re getting there,” Sherlock assured Lestrade. “John’s forbidden us from upsetting her for the time being.”

“Got a sad lung right now,” she explained quietly.

“Well at least it and you are around to be sad,” Lestrade pointed out gently. “If you don’t want to tell these two about something--” He paused to indicate Mycroft and Sherlock. “Tell me. I’m normal and generally very reasonable and I _care_.”

Rose nodded, her eyes downcast. “I know. I’m really sorry I was an idiot.”

Lestrade reached over and patted her shoulder. “I’m not here to be upset with you, that’s your brothers’ job, not mine. I merely wanted to let you know I’m around.”

This time she gave him a smile. “Thanks.”

“And no rush coming back. Not until John says you can and not if he says yes but you’re too tired. Though I do actually sort of miss having you around.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet,” Rose grinned. She could practically feel Mycroft’s eyes rolling behind her and it made her giggle. It was sort of fun having him around!

\---------------------

“Rest means rest, not cooking,” John said sternly later that evening. “And we know Sherlock isn’t going to cook, so it’s me or Mycroft and I don’t know if he _can_ cook or not.”

“Not really, we have a cook at home. Always have. He used to make me special breakfasts though when I was little,” Rose admitted.

“Special breakfasts?”

“Pancakes. And not just any pancakes, _bear_ pancakes. With little ears and chocolate chip eyes and a whip cream smile. Teddy bear pancakes, just for me.”

“You make him sound human and that’s frightening me a bit,” John teased before sobering. “I mean it though. Back on the couch or a chair or a bed and rest. Or have someone take you for a walk if you’re tired of sitting.”

Her eyebrows went up. “Take me for a walk, John? That’s… rather insulting,” she decided.

“Take you on a walk then. Or go with you on a walk, or whatever you want to call it. But no cooking. Maybe tomorrow if you’re good and rest up,” John said. He kissed the top of her head before turning her back to facing the sitting room and sending her on her way to the couch with a light smack.

Rose let out an indignant squeak and hurried over to the couch, where she sat down and stuck her tongue out at him. As soon as she plopped onto the couch her mobile notified her of a text and she reached over to pick it up…

Only to have Mycroft intercept her. “Who is this? Do you know an Alfred? Sherlock, what do you know about an Alfred?”

“Alfred is my dance partner and a perfectly nice fellow,” Rose said. “Give me back my mobile Mycroft. This is not going to work if you think you can just take my mobile, screen my calls, and make a mental list of people to do background checks on later when you go home. Completely unacceptable and I won’t have it.”

“Don’t be smart,” Mycroft scolded. He did not like her tone!

“Don’t be smart,” Rose mimicked in a high pitched voice.

Mycroft glared at Sherlock. “I blame you entirely for that.”

Sherlock ignored him completely.

“Mobile, Mycroft. Immediately. You cannot steal my mobile, you cannot background check my friends, you cannot screen my calls, you can’t do _anything_ with my mobile, other than hand it over, or I’m really going to be angry,” Rose threatened.

Rolling his eyes, he handed it over. “Always so dramatic Rose. I just want to protect you.”

“I’m reconsidering everything I said earlier during cuddle time, just so you’re aware.”

Sherlock snorted. “Cuddle time! That’s hilarious!”

“I live in an insane asylum,” Rose grumbled as she entered her password. She read the message: ‘How are you? Can I stop by tomorrow?’

‘Sure, anytime. I’m being held prisoner.’

‘When will they release you?’

Rose looked up from the message. “John! Alfred wants to know when I can go back to the studio again.”

“Two weeks from yesterday,” he responded.

Over her head, Sherlock and Mycroft shared a knowing look. ‘Wait for it…’ he mouthed as Rose began typing again.

‘John said two we--’

“WHAT?!” Rose shrieked.

“You heard me, two weeks from yesterday.”

“Are you absolutely insane? John, I have a competition in four weeks! I cannot wait two weeks to start practicing again! No, absolutely not!” Rose declared. “You are utterly ridiculous and I refuse to abide by that. Completely and utterly refuse!”

“You’re so wordy when you rant, Rose,” Sherlock grumbled. “And very shrill.”

John looked up from the stove top and pinned Rose with a hard look. “This is not a negotiation. You just got out of hospital yesterday, your bloody lung collapsed, you had _surgery_. How can it possibly surprise you in the slightest that you need two weeks rest? Weren’t you listening to the discharge instructions yesterday?!”

Her face turned a bit pink. “No…. I figured you were listening and that was good enough,” she admitted.

“Well then it’s a good thing I’m a doctor isn’t it? And your doctor at that,” John retorted. “Or you’d already be back in hospital! Again, this is _not_ a negotiation young lady. You’re recovering, don’t make me be so stern with you and don’t be so damn stubborn!”

“OH MY GOD!” Rose yelled. “You’re going to ruin my life John. I’m going to lose the competition and it will be entirely your fault. Are you happy with yourself?”

“I’m plenty happy with myself, so long as you’re still in one piece,” John retorted. “The answer is no. No studio, no dancing, no overly strenuous activity for two weeks. You’re lucky I’m letting you go to your competition at all, miss!”

“Who do you think you are?!” Rose shrieked. “Sherlock, tell him he can’t do that! Tell him! He’s not my brother! He can’t do that!”

“Rose…” Sherlock said warningly.

She threw a pillow at him and began shrieking again when suddenly she stopped and began coughing. And coughing, and coughing!

“That’s plenty, Rosenwyn. Absolutely plenty,” Mycroft thundered. “ _Not_ another word or you’re going to the corner, coughing or no coughing.”

“Shut up Mycroft!” she shouted through her coughs.

Mycroft got up from the couch and started walking towards her, looking anything but pleased.

“No, I didn’t meant that, I--” Rose coughed again and struggled to catch her breath.

“It’s a miracle you made it to nineteen, Rose,” John groused as he came over to see to her. “Mycroft has shown incredible restrain. I think I would have smothered in your sleep long before this.” Of course he didn’t mean a word of it.

Her only response was a scowl.

“We thought about that,” Sherlock quipped. “Lots actually.”

“Now, slow it down. Breathe slowly; don’t try to get so much air in. It’s going to hurt in a minute,” he instructed.  “You’ve got to calm down Rose. Eyes on me; breathe in, slowly, slowly. And out slowly. It’s alright to cough, that’s just how your lung is supposed to respond.”

By the time she caught her breath again, Rose was white as a sheet and her chest hurt terribly.

“Calm again? Aren’t going to strop anymore?” John checked, his voice gentle this time.

Rose shook her head no.

“Good girl. No more of that, alright? I know you’re angry, I know you love to dance and want to do brilliantly at competition. But I would like you to actually still be _alive_ for your competition. So stop being stroppy. Just… pout quietly if you have to,” he suggested. “That won’t hurt you at all.”

“Mycroft is going to do me bodily harm in a moment,” Rose whispered.

“I highly doubt that,” John chuckled. “Now go sit down. Sherlock, get her some water. Our supper is going to burn in a minute if I don’t get back to it.”

Rose gave her eldest brother a tiny smile and sat down on the couch as far away from him as she could.

“Do you even know how _completely_ ridiculous you are, Rosenwyn Aramantha Holmes? That was disgraceful,” Mycroft scolded.

“I’m sorry I told you to shut up,” she mumbled, picking at the pocket of her dressing gown. “Dancing is just really important to me.”

“And having a tantrum was likely to change John’s medical opinion of your condition?”

“Well, no,” she began tentatively.

“Precisely.” Mycroft crooked his finger at her.

“Mycroft,” Sherlock said warningly. “I don’t think that’s appropriate just now. You’ll make her howl, which isn’t anymore conducive to her breathing properly than screaming is. You can smack her later.”

The eldest Holmes looked distinctly displeased at the fact that Sherlock was right.

“And in any case, supper is ready,” John announced.

\------------------------------

The second day of her imprisonment, as Rose liked to call it, went fairly well. Mycroft was over again, but she spent some time with Mrs. Hudson and brought back fresh scones for everyone, and let them think she’d only sat and chatted rather than get her hands dirty and bake alongside the beloved landlady.

The third day, however, was quickly becoming problematic. Mycroft was taking her mobile every time it chirped; he was also being harassed by the Prime Minister who was threatening to call their employer, which only served to make Mycroft more irritable than he generally was.

As four o’clock in the afternoon rolled around, Rose left him alone to answer yet another call, and made herself more coffee. That was the only nice thing about being home all day: coffee all day! That and Sherlock and John were spoiling her and that had its appeal as well. It was sweet how much they worried over her. If only Mycroft’s worry manifested itself in sweetness, rather than suspicions and general crankiness.

“Rose, what number cup of coffee is that today?” Mycroft asked when she reappeared in the sitting room.

“Oh, you’re done already? I figured you’d have to step out and shout again,” she admitted.

“That’s not an answer to my question.”

“Uh… sixish?”

Mycroft frowned. “Are you asking or telling?”

Rose groaned and would have given anything just then to be with Sherlock at St. Barts, even if it meant doing icky things with people’s innards.  “Telling I suppose.”

“That’s really very unhealthy. You should be drinking water, much, much more water than coffee.”

He received an eye roll for his troubles. “Yeah, because that’s _totally_ the same thing. You’re an idiot and a helicopter parent, do you know that? A helicopter parent Mycroft. Think on that. In fact, go think on that at home, would you? Sometimes I love you so much more when you’re not… you know… not here.”

John sat back in his chair with his own cup of coffee watching the exchange between siblings as if it were some sort of special on the BBC about an unchartered terrain or new species that was discovered. They really made no sense to him sometimes. What it must have been like growing up in that house!

And while he knew he should stay out of it, it was like a train wreck. You knew you shouldn’t look, but couldn’t help doing it anyway. “Do you seriously love him more when he’s not here?”

Rose’s eyebrow quirked. “Well, obviously John. I’m not certain why that isn’t obvious to you. He doesn’t annoy me when he’s away from me. Therefore I love him more because he’s not annoying me.”

Mycroft was frowning in concentration more than anything else. “What exactly is a “helicopter parent” Rose? You just make things like that up so I feel old and out of touch with the world, don’t you?”

“No, that’s an actual thing,” Rose assured him. “Heard it round the studio. All the teens say it, when their parents are overbearing and annoying and won’t leave them alone as if their very life depends upon continued second-by-second involvement in their affairs.”

“You need a “helicopter parent,” which has to be one of the most idiotic expressions I’ve ever heard,” Mycroft decided. “But you need one, if not a 24/7 minder.”

She let out an exaggerated groan. “Mycroft, please listen to me and listen to me very carefully. This is important. If you do not go back to work tomorrow, I’m going to become a terrorist and I mean that very sincerely.”

He gave her a smug, superior look and said. “I’ll let you.”

“Yeah, your club that you like? First on the hit list,” Rose informed him.

“What sort of terrorist?” John interjected.

“A terrifying terrorist, obviously,” Rose snickered.

“They were monsters growing up, weren’t they? She and Sherlock.”

“You have _no_ idea, I assure you,” Mycroft said in all sincerity.

“I’m not a monster! Nor have I ever been! I was… delightful,” she responded after settling on an adjective.

Mycroft made a noise suspiciously resembling a snort. “Until about age six.”

“Mycroft, _do_ shut it, will you?”

Another smug look crossed his face. “Do keep in mind, sister mine, I’m going to remember this. _All_ of this, when it comes time to spank you.”

Rose’s jaw dropped. “That is completely inappropriate Mycroft. I’m on medication and I’m recovering. I’m very heavily medicated in fact.”

“You’re like this _constantly_ Rose, without medical assistance.”

Rose shook her head and turned to John. “Brothers are really an abomination on this earth, do you know that? You’re so lucky you’ve just got Harry.”

“And what are sisters then?” Mycroft inquired.

“Do you really need to ask, My? Clearly we are angelic creatures from heaven. That should be abundantly obvious. I’d be perfectly lovely if you weren’t here.”

“You know, in her defense, she typically is rather lovely,” John felt compelled to point out. “You don’t bring out her best side by any means.”

“Aw! John, that’s very sweet,” Rose decided, giving him a grin. “See Mycroft? Why do you have to be a bear? You should be more like John; he’s always sweet to me.”

“Good, he can have you then.”

“You’re still here?” Sherlock asked, appearing in the doorway of the flat. “Mycroft, you have a home, why can’t you just go there and _stay_ there.”

“It’s like a special kind of hell Sherlock, it really is,” Rose stated with a sigh.

“Try raising you, Rose. _That_ is a special kind of hell,” Mycroft replied.

“Lord, you were never any fun Mycroft. At all.” She tossed a pillow at him.

“Must you throw things like a child?”

“It’s a pillow; it won’t hurt you, poor darling.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

“I suppose that’s better than a teapot or potted plant, if one must have something thrown at them,” Mycroft admitted.

John waited for him to laugh; only Mycroft didn’t laugh. “Oh my god, you’re serious? She threw a potted plant at you?”

Sherlock started laughing. “I remember that! It was hilarious!”

Mycroft scowled. “It was anything but hilarious when I fell over and lost consciousness on the lawn.”

“Admittedly not one of my brighter moments,” Rose grumbled. “And I paid for it. But honestly, in the moment, it was totally worth it. Absolutely glorious, it really was John.”

“She’s right, it was,” Sherlock nodded, having gained control of his laughter.

John stared at them both for a long moment before turning to Mycroft. “I never thought I’d feel sorry for you Mycroft, ever. Right now, I do.”

At just that moment, Mycroft’s mobile rang for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. Getting up, he helped himself to Sherlock’s room for a bit of privacy. He emerged several minutes later.

“Something has come up and I actually do have to go to work now. My employer sends her best and hopes you heal well. She’s sending round tea and biscuits,” Mycroft told Rose.

As soon as he exited the building, Rose and Sherlock let out dual sighs of relief. “Never thought he’d leave. You’re a horrible brother for abandoning me like that.”

“I assumed you didn’t want me to murder him. Was I wrong?”

“No, but still, you owe me. I’d like chocolate ice cream, and I mean immediately,” Rose told him with a grin.

Sherlock kissed the top of her head before going out in search of ice cream.


	18. Music Makes Me

Rose had been home from hospital for a week and John had finally felt comfortable leaving her to her own devices for a day while he went back to work. She’d been a remarkably good patient in the days after Mycroft had gone back to work. So much so, in fact, that what happened when he came home the evening of the seventh day, was completely unexpected. Though in retrospect, it shouldn’t have been. This was Rose after all.

"Oh, John, you're back!” Mrs. Hudson called out before opening her door.  “I don't know what Rose is doing up in her flat, but it sounds like a herd of elephants in there. Would you ask her to quiet it down a bit when you go up? I would, but my hip."

John frowned for a moment before hearing a heavy thud on the floor. That was odd. “Uh, yeah, sure. I’ll check in on her.” He hurried up the stairs and opened the door of Rose’s flat.

_Two Hours Earlier_

“Alfred, you cannot be serious,” Rose said with a sigh. “No, I take that back. Bonnie can’t be serious. The boys are never going to let me do a swing dance at the recital. I’m lucky they’re letting me go to the competition.”

“Only because they don’t think you can do it,” Alfred pointed out with a grin. “Wouldn’t it be great to show them wrong?”

Rose pursed her lips as she contemplated the idea of it. “You know, it really would. Especially John. I adore him, don’t get me wrong, but he fusses all the time now since I came home.” Not that she blamed him. Well, she didn’t really mind it either if she really sat and thought about it.

“Well I’d want to use period appropriate music,” she said by way of agreement.

“Louise mentioned you’re fussy about that. I thought she was kidding,” he laughed.

“So, what’s the dance and what’s the song choice then? This is very rehearsed Alfred, I can tell. Not that I object, but just so you know.”

Alfred grinned. “Okay, so I sort of choreographed the whole thing. Just to save you the time! And you never let me do it anyway.”

“That’s no… Wait, actually that is true,” Rose said sheepishly.

“It’s ok, I don’t mind it. You’re funny when you’re bossy. You sound like that oldest brother of yours.”

“OH MY GOD! Don’t be insulting Alfred! That’s the most horrible thing anyone has ever said to me in my whole life!” Rose shouted before hitting him with a pillow. “Anyway, we’ll have to move the couch if we’re going to work in here. I know for sure I’m not allowed to go to the studio, but nobody said anything about my flat.”

He nodded. “Technicalities are the key to success. And I picked a song I know you’ll like! Louise said you’re big into Dean Martin, so we found a faster paced recording of one she’s seen you sing.”

She smiled at him. “I like the way your mind works, Alfred Mellor. You’re devious and cunning and I like that. Let’s move the couch!”

_Present_

The noise was growing louder as John shot up the stairs. The door to Rose’s flat was unlocked, so he opened it, completely unprepared for what he saw. Feet flying, hips swinging, Alfred leaned over and Rose went head first over his back. Alfred scrambled to catch her but didn’t and Rose hit the floor with a thud.

Before she even realized the door was open, John was at her side, hand on a shoulder, looking her over with that discerning doctor’s eye of his. “Oh… hello,” she greeted softly.

“Are you alright?” John asked. “That sounded like it hurt.”

“No, I’m fine,” Rose hurried to assure him. She looked up at him and cringed, realizing that was the wrong thing to say, or the wrong moment for him to walk in, or all of the above, when he stood up and towered over her. Arms crossed over his chest, John glared at her and appeared to be struggling to control his temper.

“Oh god,” she murmured.

“You, what the _hell_ were you doing?” John demanded of her. “And you,” he paused to give Alfred a pointed look, “are leaving _now._ Whether or not I escort you out is up to you.”

Alfred gulped and nodded. “Yes, sir. Bye Rose!” He grabbed his coat and dashed out the door, leaving her sitting on the floor.

“Get up, right now, miss,” John directed in that Captain Watson tone. That tone didn’t leave room for an argument and Rose hurriedly got to her feet.

“Have you gone _completely_ insane? What the _hell_ is wrong with you? You’ve been out of hospital seven days. Seven, Rose! Seven!”

“Did you want any of those questions answered?” Rose asked meekly.

“No, they’re rhetorical, because you have to be absolutely bonkers to be mucking about like this!” John thundered. “And where is your couch?!” He had just now noticed the absence of it, and the rest of her furniture, from the living room.

She bit her lip. “I’d rather not say.”

“That is not an option!”

“Uh, well… We moved it to the bedroom.”

John’s face grew darker. “We as in not just Alfred? In what world, exactly, is moving a sleeper couch not considered strenuous physical activity?”

“That’s the bit you’re mad about?” Rose asked, feeling horribly confused.

“NO! But let’s take your completely inappropriate actions one at a time, shall we? Answer the question: in what world does that not constitute the sort of physical activity your physician at hospital and I told to avoid?” John demanded.

“Well…” There was no good way to answer this and she knew it. “The world in my head for one. But I’m gathering that world is wrong.”

“ _Very_ wrong,” John agreed. “I almost don’t even know what to say to you! My god, do you actually value your own life? You could have gone into cardiac arrest! What don’t you understand about the fact that you had surgery?”

“But I didn’t though! We’d been at it an age, he just can’t get that one part, so I kept falling and… I’m not helping my case, am I?”

“You are _this_ close,” he began, indicating a very small space between his thumb and index finger. “ _This_ close to having a smacked bottom. Is that what you want Rose? Because if it is, I’d be more than happy to oblige! How long were you at this? Answer me!” he shouted when she hesitated.

“Couple hours I suppose, or somewhere in there. John, I can explain, really, just give me a moment to think of something!” Rose pleaded.

That tiny bit of leeway he’d indicated vanished at her confession of having been dancing for two hours. “Oh, no you can’t,” he decided. “Because there is no valid explanation for this! Come here _now,_ right here.” John pointed to a spot right in front of him, his tone and the look on his face making it very clear he was to be obeyed.

So Rose obeyed.

John promptly pulled her closer and tucked her under one arm. With that accomplished he began delivering hearty swats to her behind. “Clearly, you’re all better, aren’t you? Well guess what that means, miss? It means I’m giving your brothers the go-ahead to have at you for all that stalker nonsense!”

“Ow, ow, ow! John! That hurts!” Rose yelped as she tried to wiggle her bum out of harm’s way. Unfortunately, her attempts were unsuccessful. “I didn’t think about that John! No, don’t tell them that! Owww! Oww! We can talk like adults I swear!”

“No, I don’t think we can,” he said sternly, continuing to spank her. “I think this is our best method of communication at the moment. And I don’t care to hear it if you disagree! Absolutely ridiculous, there just aren’t even words in the English language for me to express how displeased I am! So this will have to do. And if you’re well enough to push couches and dance for two hours and leap over Alfred like that, you are _definitely_ well enough for a sound spanking which is exactly what I’m telling Sherlock and Mycroft.”

After a few more sharp swats, John stopped and stood her up in front of him. “Are we clear about how unacceptable this was?”

Silent tears were streaking down Rose’s cheeks as she nodded.

“I think a “yes, sir,” wouldn’t be amiss just now,” John decided, still using that Captain tone.

“Yes, John,” she replied. “We’re clear.”

Before she could say anything else John pulled her close once again, this time to wrap his arms around her and hold her tightly. “God help the man you marry someday Rosenwyn Holmes, because you are a handful if ever I saw one,” he grumbled in a much softer tone.

“I’m sorry.”

He tipped her head up and looked in her eyes. “It would be really helpful for you if you’d stop and think for thirty seconds or so before you agree to things, yeah? Honestly it would help you so much, because then I wouldn’t have to do this. I don’t _like_ doing this.”

“I don’t either,” Rose admitted, reaching back to rub her bum. “You know I’m not deliberately trying to provoke you or anything right?”

John chuckled. “Of course, love. But you do a fine job of it all the same.” He hugged her tighter, resting his chin on top of her head. “I’d rather like to keep you around, you know. Stop making that so hard, yeah?”

“I don’t plan on going anywhere, just so you know. No disappearing,” she whispered.

“I’m very glad to hear that. I’ve grown rather attached to you.”

For some reason the way he said that made her giggle a bit. “I suppose I’m slightly attached to you as well. I’d be more attached if you stopped smacking me like you’ve got a right to or something.”

John snorted. “Stop giving me opportunities to do it and I won’t have to.”

Rose pulled back and gave him a skeptical look. “You make it sound as if I provide some sort of invitation for you to take undue liberties with my personage.”

“Big words for such a silly girl,” he teased, giving her a wink. “But yeah, you rather do. You’re exceptionally naughty sometimes.”

She groaned loudly. “I hate that word, really I do.  Are you done scolding yet?”

“I am,” John confirmed. “So, on to the next bit of business.”

 “Which is?”

“You’re going next door to tell Sherlock what you were up to,” he told her sternly.

“Can we skip that bit if I promise to buy you cupcakes?”

“No, we can’t, miss. Putting it off won’t make it better, off you go,” John instructed, giving her a smack to send her off.

She yelped, and then promptly turned around to stick her tongue out at him.

\----------------------------------

“You’re always so dramatic John,” Sherlock grumbled. He was busy trying to reproduce a certain chemical effect on some plaid material on the kitchen table and wasn’t quite paying attention to what John said.

"Sherlock, did you not hear all that racket in her flat?!"

"Nope," the other man replied, making the ‘p’ pop as he said it.

“She was swing dancing Sherlock, and leaping over that boy’s back. He let her fall on the floor. She could have really gotten injured, not to mention the fact that she had surgery a little over week ago.”

“Don’t mention it then,” Rose grumbled, standing somewhat behind John. She hoped beyond hope that her brother would continue to be too distracted by his experiment to pay any actual attention to John.

The detective sighed heavily. “John, I don’t know why you’re so…” He stopped and looked up at John, the other man’s words finally registering. “She _what_?!” That was when he spotted Rose standing slightly behind John, biting her lip.

“No,” he decided. “Come over here and explain all this nonsense to me. You do still have connected brain cells in that head of yours, correct? I really wonder sometimes. Perhaps Mycroft dropped you on your head more often than I was aware of.”

Rose shrugged a bit, moving out from behind John but no closer to Sherlock. “Music makes me do the things I never should do,” she said helplessly.

An eyebrow quirked. “You know who I am, Rosenwyn. _That_ doesn’t work,” Sherlock responded disdainfully.

“What doesn’t?” John asked.

 “That’s a Fred Astaire lyric,” Sherlock explained before turning back to his sister. “Oh Rose; if you’re so convinced you’re indestructible, guess what? We are too! So I’m telling Mycroft that you’re all better now.”

“You’ve never even seen _Flying Down to Rio,_ ” Rose grumbled. “And Alfred kept dropping me on my bum! Plus John already spanked me!” Rose protested. “So really, I’m too sore. We can wait to tell Mycroft, right?”

“How unfortunate,” he drawled, anything but sympathetic. “Perhaps you shouldn’t let your dance partner drop you so often if you don’t want an already sore bottom before you have a spanking.” Pulling out his mobile, Sherlock began texting Mycroft.

‘You’ll never guess. SH’

‘Rose has done something, hasn’t she? M’

‘She thinks she’s invincible. SH’

‘That’s hardly new. M’

‘John says we can spank her now. SH’

‘I don’t think the word “rest” even exists in her vocabulary. Ridiculous girl. M’

‘On that, brother, we are agreed. SH’

\-----------------------------

Thirty minutes later, Rose’s mobile went off. With a sigh she picked it up, looked at the ID briefly and then answered.

“I hate talking on mobile, please text me,” she said and promptly hung up.

Mycroft, however, was not deterred and chuckled as he called her again. “I hear you’ve been misbehaving again, sister mine,” he said when she picked up. “How… very like you.”

“Lies. All lies,” she replied, trying to affect a bored tone but failing miserably.

“Who’s telling lies?” Mycroft asked.

“John and Sherlock. It’s all lies. I’m so well behaved you wouldn’t recognize me.”

“That’s highly unlikely,” he laughed. “What are your plans tomorrow, sister?”

“Not sure yet. What are yours? I’ll make sure I’m where you aren’t, how’s that sound?”

“That wasn’t what I had in mind. You’re overdue for a spanking Rosenwyn,” Mycroft said sternly. The other end of the line went silent, but he was certain she hadn’t hung up. “I’ll be dropping by Baker Street about five. It would be much better for you if you could manage to be there when I arrive.”

Rose let out a sigh. “I suppose,” she answered quietly.

“Excellent. Do take care of yourself in the meantime, alright?”

There was another brief pause before she responded by saying, “Love you too, My.”

She couldn’t see it, but her words made him smile.

\--------------------------

Mycroft arrived at 221B at 5:30 the next day and stopped in the doorway for a moment. Rose was lying on her back on the couch in pajamas and a dressing gown, her eyes closed and a look of pure relaxation on her face as her bare feet moved to the beat of whatever song was currently on her ipod. Sometimes it simply floored him that while Rose had clearly grown so much since she’d disappeared, she was still  very much the same little girl he’d raised.

“She has amazing musicality,” Mycroft said, by way of announcing his presence to Sherlock and John. “I really should have insisted she learn to play piano or violin. Mother insisted she dance.”

“Mother was right,” Sherlock replied. He watched with bemusement as Mycroft crossed the room and took one of Rose’s tiny feet and ran a finger lightly over the bottom of it.

Rose jumped so hard she nearly fell off the couch. Looking completely bewildered, she pulled her ear buds out. “Are you quite well Mycroft?”

“Whatever makes you ask?”

“You tickled my foot. You’re being _weird_.”

“Am I?”

 “It’s been a good decade since you did that last.”

Mycroft shrugged. “I’m imparting a valuable life lesson Rose- wear socks.”

“Socks are boring. And if that’s today’s lesson, you can go on your way. I hate that smug look by the way. Put it away, will you?”

He didn’t and instead sat at the end of the couch, letting her drape her legs across his lap.

“Well…” John began. “I think I’ll step out for a bit while you three, uh…”

“While Rose has her spanking, you mean?” Sherlock asked. While his flat mate was no longer shy about giving Rose some discipline when she needed it, he still seemed a bit uncomfortable with the word ‘spanking.’ Naturally, Sherlock exploited this at every possible opportunity.

“Actually, I’d prefer you didn’t John,” Mycroft decided. “She may have need of your services at some point this evening.” 

“I’m going to need medical attention when you lot are through?” Rose yelled. “What the _hell_ are going to do to me?!”

“Don’t be ridiculous Rose. Or at least anymore ridiculous than is absolutely necessary,” Mycroft chided. “You had surgery nine days ago. I would prefer John be here in case your chest starts bothering you. I’m sure you’d rather not be hauled to hospital unnecessarily.”

She immediately looked relieved. “True enough. You scared me for a minute there, My! Very unkind you know. I’m already nervous enough as it is.”

“You should be.”

“You’re a rubbish big brother,” she decided. “I think John is really my only ally here.” Rose gave the doctor a beseeching look.

“Oh no miss, don’t look to me for any outs on this. I am one hundred percent behind your brothers. You were a completely reckless thing and it nearly killed you,” John scolded. “We’re here because we care about you.”

"What the hell is this? Pick on Rose day?!" she exclaimed.

Sherlock chuckled. “Don’t be silly. It’s _always_ pick on Rose day.”

“Ladies do not curse, Rosenwyn. It should have occurred even to _you_ that if you’re not too old to be spanked, you’re certainly not too old to have your mouth washed out,” Mycroft said firmly.

Both of the younger Holmes siblings rolled their eyes in response to that. “I’ve been telling you for years, Mycroft, that you need to pick your battles. You’re boring,” Sherlock decided.

“And redundant,” Rose added smugly.

“I don’t remember asking either of you for your opinions!”

Rose turned a pleading look at Sherlock. “Can it be pick on Mycroft day, please? That would be so much more fun!”

“No. In fact, I think you should go to my room. We’ll be in shortly,” Sherlock directed. If they kept up the banter any longer it would only make it harder to deal with her in the long run.

“We? As in the both of you?” That, Rose thought, was very unexpected.

“We’re both your brothers the last time I checked,” Mycroft pointed out.

“Your _angry_ brothers at that,” Sherlock added. “Go Rosenwyn.”

Rose took a deep breath and quickly assessed Sherlock’s mood. Definitely wouldn’t be open to any further pleading, wouldn’t countenance whining, and was likely to start counting if she didn’t move. That was a part she’d much rather skip if she had the choice!

Without a word Rose got up, heading for Sherlock’s bedroom, when she felt a hand on her arm. Turning around, she was face to face with John.

Smiling kindly, John reached up and cupped her cheek in his hand, rubbing it lightly with his thumb. “Don’t give them a hard time. They love you like mad, you know.” Letting go of her cheek, he pulled her into a tight hug, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“I know they do,” Rose whispered. “And I know you do, too.”

John chuckled and held her a little tighter. “Yeah, I do,” he agreed before stepping back.

Without another word Rose turned and opened the door of Sherlock’s room and disappeared inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll be posting a long one-shot fic to “Raising a Wildflower” within the next day or so. Stay tuned!


	19. A Difficult Lesson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for taking so long to update. Real life rather exploded this past week! So now I offer you a longer chapter. Enjoy!

By the time Sherlock entered the bedroom, with Mycroft close behind him carrying a kitchen chair, Rose was a bundle of nerves. Uncertain what fate awaited her, other than the obvious sore bottom, she sat leaning against the headboard, knees pulled up to her chest, while biting her lower lip.

“Stop that with your lip,” Mycroft commented. “I’ve been telling you for years not to do that.”

“Nervous,” she murmured.

“You should be.”

Rose sighed heavily. “Mycroft, I’m really serious. I’m horribly nervous. It’s been a really long time since you’ve _both_ been this unhappy with me.”

“I can tell,” Sherlock admitted, coming to sit beside her on the bed. “We don’t plan on injuring you.”

She scooted closer, leaning against his side. She felt a bit better once Sherlock had his arm around her. “I know that. Of course I know that,” Rose assured him. 

“Good,” Sherlock murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. 

“Maybe you two could just pronounce my sentence and get on with it,” Rose requested rather meekly before helping herself to Sherlock’s lap. She pressed her face against his shoulder as he hugged her tightly.

The two brothers shared a concerned look over her head. This was very unlike their Rose.

Mycroft joined his siblings on the bed and reached out to rub Rose’s back. “You’re feeling quite guilty, aren’t you?” he inquired with a surprising amount of gentleness. “And anxious because you’ve had to wait so long.”

Rose nodded just slightly. “Yes. And no. But yes,” she responded, her words a bit muffled by Sherlock’s shirt.

“I think that’s going to require a bit of explanation darling,” Sherlock said softly. 

Mycroft’s eyebrow rose at Sherlock’s term of endearment but he otherwise refrained from commenting on it.

“I’m not ok,” Rose whispered. 

Sherlock paused for a moment. “Considering the fact that you’re still here, rather than having gone out the window, which clearly indicates that on some level- likely subconsciously of course- you actually _are_ alright with it,” he pointed out.

Mycroft attempted to cover up a snort with a cough and failed. “Generally, brother, she’s smart enough not to do the same thing twice. Which is more than can be said for _you_.”

“Why are you two purposely being stupid?” Rose asked, sounding genuinely distressed.

Sherlock held her tighter and rested his chin on top of her head, murmuring an apology meant for her ears only.

“I do feel guilty. Really horribly guilty. I worried you all so much; John took a man’s life to save mine. I almost died; I almost got myself killed because I’m so ridiculously stupid and stubborn. Yes, I’m anxious, because this is never fun, and I’m certain you two have thought up something really awful. I just… This isn’t going to make it all better. Nothing is going to make it all better, and I really, really don’t like that at all,” Rose tried to explain.

“I lied to all of you; I kept secrets I should never have kept. Yeah, alright, so I’ve been spanked loads of times, but this time it’s different. Because it won’t make all that go away. I won’t be any more trustworthy afterwards, nor will it be forgive and forget this time, because no one will ever forget this and it will take me ages to earn forgiveness from you both.”

Mycroft cleared his throat loudly, causing Rose to lift her head from Sherlock’s shoulder just enough to peek over at him. “Look at me Rosenwyn,” he said sternly. “Lift your head up and look at me.” When she did so, Mycroft moved closer and reached out to take her chin, holding it gently but firmly.

“Now you listen to me and listen well. You’re quite confused and I’m going to enlighten you. The hierarchy of this family has not changed and will not change. I am the head of this family--”

Sherlock snorted but otherwise remained silent.

“I am the head of this family,” Mycroft continued. “Additionally, I raised you, so I make the rules; that’s how it works. I do not appreciate your attempts to usurp my authority here, young lady. I have not said a single word about losing trust in you for the remainder of your life, nor have I suggested you will not be forgiven. As always, the slate will be wiped clean and our trust in you will be restored in short order, I’m certain of it. But I’ll not have you being harder on yourself than I am. That is _completely_ unacceptable and I will _not_ have it. Are we quite clear?”

Rose gulped audibly before responding with a whispered, “Yes, sir,” that caused Mycroft’s eyebrows to shoot upwards as he released her chin.

“And I feel precisely the same way Rose,” Sherlock added. “Minus that whole head of the family rubbish. Now, if that is all sorted out, I suggest we move on to the discussion phase of this little family meeting. Start us out, oh-head-of-the-family,” he directed his brother.

“I think we can dispense with the lecture portion. I’m satisfied that you understand why you’re being punished. This is going to be a spanking in two parts,” Mycroft informed her. “You will go over my knee for a hand spanking and Sherlock will handle the second part.”

“I will be using a strap, after Mycroft is done with you,” Sherlock told her. “The amount of danger you put yourself in demands more than the average spanking. I want to make a very serious point that this had better not _ever_ happen again.”

She made a whining noise that caused her brothers to chuckle. “I don’t like the idea of that. Do I get a vote? I think something else would work just fine. Like… a really long time out,” Rose offered. “Really, that would be plenty.”

“Well, we can add that as well if you’d like,” Mycroft offered in a dangerous tone.

“Never mind,” Rose grumbled. “Let’s get this done before I really _do_ start thinking about going out the window.”

“Off to Mycroft you go then,” Sherlock stated, helping her up from his lap. “Would you… uh… Do you want me to stay?”

“Sherlock, you’re such an idiot. No I do not want an audience, thank you very much!” she stated firmly. 

Sherlock scowled at her. “I was _trying_ to be nice.”

“Well you suck at it, so I suggest you stop trying.” Despite Rose’s biting words, a smile was tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“I will leave you both to it then,” he agreed. After kissing the top of her head, Sherlock exited his bedroom.

Rose promptly flopped back on the bed. “This… is awkward.”

“Is it really? I cannot imagine that to be true Rose. You’ve certainly been over my knee enough times that it should be very familiar to you,” Mycroft pointed out. While she glared at him, he stood and took off his suit jacket, placing it on the bed before unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt.

“No. No no no. No rolling up your sleeves! That always means you’re going to be really serious about it! Stop doing that!” Rose demanded.

Her demand was ignored completely and Mycroft sat down on the chair he’d brought in with him. “I do not want to cause undue stress to your injuries, so come lean over and see if this will cause any strain,” he instructed. “And you can stop all the whining and pleading now, before you even get started. I’m not going to listen to any of it, and you know that. It never works with me.”

Damn if he wasn’t right and Rose knew it too. Mycroft never relented, no matter what she did to try and convince him. She blamed Sherlock for that; their eldest brother had had far too much practice on Sherlock before Rose had come along, and Mycroft was pretty much immune to any sort of wheedling she might try. But, she always tried just the same.

Rose got up with a sigh and went to Mycroft’s side, bending carefully over his knee. “I think it’ll be alright actually,” she admitted. “I don’t feel like anything is hurting or has too much pressure on it.”

“Excellent. If that changes, you need to let me know. And don’t say “Mycroft, it hurts!” because you’re being spanked so of course that hurts. Say something different so I know you aren’t just whining about your bottom,” Mycroft instructed. He then helped her up from his lap, standing her at his side. “Pajama bottoms down,” he instructed.

“Oh Mycroft, come on! Please let me keep them on, they’re sort of thin,” Rose pleaded.

Rather than giving her a verbal response, Mycroft simply tugged her pajama bottoms down himself, then tugged her back over his lap. While she sputtered indignantly, he pulled her panties down to her knees. “This will be much easier if you cooperate,” he warned. “Are you going to keep your hands in front of you, or would you like me to hold them?”

Rose took a few seconds to think that over before putting her right hand back. “Better hold this one,” she said softly.

Mycroft took her hand in his and squeezed it gently before holding it at the small of her back. He then raised his right hand and brought it down hard on her right cheek, causing Rose to let out a little gasp. His hand then fell in the identical spot on her left cheek. Mycroft picked up the pace, landing crisp swats all over her bottom, quickly raising heat and sting.

For a little bit, Rose was quiet and still, other than some movement in response to swats to her sit spots. That’s when she opened up and began to protest. “Ow! My, not there!” she exclaimed, beginning to squirm. “Owww! That’s enough!”

“If you’re attempting to order me around, then it’s not nearly enough,” Mycroft pointed out in a stern tone.  His hand went back and forth, up and down her cheeks, putting quite a bit of strength behind the smacks. 

“No! Oww! Ow! Please!” she pleaded, starting to cry. “I’m sorry!”

And just like that, he stopped. Mycroft did not let her up, however, but rested his hand on her hot cheeks instead. “What are you being spanked for, Rosenwyn? Why are we doing this?” he inquired.

“Because I almost died,” Rose whimpered as tears trailed down her face.

“No,” Mycroft responded, landing an almighty smack across the center of her bottom. “Try again.”

“I don’t want to do this, I… Ow!” Rose squirmed and kicked as he smacked her again.

“Keep those feet down,” he said sternly, giving each of her thighs a good smack. “You know better. Now answer the question or I’ll tell you and that won’t be pleasant.”

“None of its pleasant,” she whined through her tears.

Sighing heavily, Mycroft gave up trying to get her to cooperate and resumed spanking, emphasizing particular words with hearty swats to her sit spots that made her squirm over his lap. “You do _not_ keep _secrets_. You _do not lie_. You do _not_ put yourself _in danger._ That is why you’re being spanked Rosenwyn. No _secrets_ , no _lies_ , no _danger_. _Am I making myself clear_?”

Rather than answer him, Rose started to sob. They were heavy sobs, indicating hurt that came from more than just her spanking. Mycroft closed his eyes for several seconds, trying to tune out her tears in order to finish. Taking a deep breath, he landed a volley of spanks on her sit spots and lower cheeks, much harder and faster than before. When her sobbing and weeping came to a crescendo, Mycroft stopped swatting her and carefully righted her clothing.

For a long moment, Mycroft didn’t say anything, opting instead to rub her back soothingly. When her tears decreased a bit in volume, he carefully helped her up from his lap.

Rose immediately turned her back to him and wrapped her arms around herself in a bid for comfort. 

Watching her turn away from him was painful. Why had he ever thought she was too old to be held after punishment, Mycroft wondered. He thought of all the times in the few years before her disappearance that he had spanked her and not followed it with some comforting, in a misguided attempt to acknowledge she was no longer a baby. A wave of guilt overwhelmed him. God, what _had_ he been thinking? He’d been such an idiot.

He moved closer and wrapped his arms around her. “I have it on good authority you still like to be cuddled afterwards. That you’re not too old for it after all,” Mycroft said softly. “Is that true?”

She nodded and turned around to face him, letting him pull her close and hug her tightly.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Not for spanking you, of course, that was well deserved. But for the times I didn’t do this afterwards. Forgive me?”

Her tears were momentarily silenced as she looked up at Mycroft and saw that he was in earnest. “Yeah, but only if you cuddle me up good right now,” Rose pleaded before burying her face against his chest.

Mycroft hugged her even tighter, then let go just enough to nudge her in the direction of the bed. He sat on it and settled her on his lap, taking care not to put too much pressure on her freshly spanked bottom. “You cannot do this again,” he murmured, rubbing her back gently. “Never again. You can’t ever put yourself in such a dangerous situation. I thought I’d been frightened while you were gallivanting around Europe and who knows where, but that was nothing compared to seeing you so… injured. Promise me Rose, please promise me you’ll come to me next time. Or if not me, someone else that you trust.”

“I promise,” Rose whispered. She helped herself to his handkerchief and tried valiantly to dry her face. “My, I don’t… I don’t want the strap. Please, My.”

“That’s not up for negotiation,” he said firmly. “You deserve it and you know that. I know you do. You’ll survive and Sherlock will cuddle you as well and probably fuss over you after too.”

“But it’s going to hurt a lot.” Her voice took on a little hint of a whine as she said it.

“That is rather the point, Rosenwyn,” Mycroft stated, though not unkindly. “That’s part of the lesson. It’s not as though you’ll be injured. I’m certain you’d rather have the strap than the cane, correct? Sherlock was quite stroppy about it when I suggested it, so you might want to tell him thank you.”

“You are definitely the mean brother,” she grumbled, but didn’t actually mean it.

Mycroft kissed the top of her head. “I’m more than happy to be the ‘mean brother’ if that’s what keeps you safe. Your safety is paramount. Whether you like me or not, that’s secondary. I’d much rather have you alive but hate me than not have you alive at all. Though, if I had a choice, I’d prefer you didn’t hate me.”

“Of course I don’t hate you,” Rose assured him, sighing a bit. “Not that I haven’t tried to sometimes, but it never worked.”

A knock on the door sounded and neither of them was surprised when Sherlock stuck his head in the room. “Things quieted down so I thought I’d come check on Rose.”

“Still alive, Mycroft is still mean,” Rose answered him, giving her brother a little smile. “And now you’re here for your turn, aren’t you?’

“Yes,” Sherlock answered, seeing no reason to try and put it more delicately. Delicate wasn’t his style, after all.

Rose extricated herself from Mycroft’s arms, wincing when her bottom touched the bed. She hurriedly stood up and rubbed her sore cheeks. “Before you ask, My, I still don’t want an audience. Consider yourself dismissed,” Rose said, trying to be funny. She even managed a little smile.

“I’ll be in the sitting room if you change your mind,” Mycroft told her before making his exit.

Sherlock and Rose stood there for a moment, looking at each other.

“This is really awkward. I said the same thing to My, but this is seriously awkward, because you’re never this hard on me,” Rose decided. 

“You’ve never needed me to be before this,” Sherlock countered. “You look like a wounded puppy, Rose. Stop looking at me like that. Your bid for sympathy isn’t going to be successful, miss.” To ease the sting from his words, he closed the distance between them and hugged her tightly. “You know I am not going to injure you, correct?”

“Oh Sherlock, of course I know that,” Rose hurried to assure him. “I just don’t have to like it, that’s all.”

“It would lose its effectiveness if you liked it,” Sherlock pointed out with a chuckle. “Let’s get this done, shall we?” When she nodded, he let her go and went over to the bed, piling some pillows in the middle of the bed. “Alright, come over here. Pajama bottoms and pants down and lie over the pillows. How are you faring? Injuries bothering you at all?”

“No, I’m doing fine in that respect. I’ll let you know if that changes,” she promised as she got up on the bed. Taking a deep breath, as if trying to summon the last of her courage, Rose pushed her pajama bottoms and panties down and positioned herself over the pillows. “For the record, I hate this. I don’t like this.”

“What specifically?”

“This pillow thing. I don’t like it,” she huffed. 

“What would you prefer? And don’t say no spanking because I really don’t want to hear that presently,” Sherlock warned. He unbuttoned his cuffs and began rolling his sleeves up to his elbows.

She frowned when he began rolling up his shirt sleeves, then shrugged and let out a sigh. “I don’t know, I guess.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed as he thought about her words. “You prefer being over my knee, don’t you?”

Blushing a bit, Rose nodded.

“Because it’s comforting, having someone holding you, in effect, while you’re being spanked,” he continued.

Another nod and more blushing.

“Despite the fact that it’s the more childish position for punishment.”

“You’re not making me feel better right now,” Rose responded, her eyes downcast.

“That’s very interesting.”

“Shut up.”

“Not the best time to be cheeky,” Sherlock pointed out. “But I do find this very interesting and it’s something I’ll keep in mind.”

Another huff. “Hate you,” she decided, pouting now.

“Back to business. It’s very important that you stay in position Rose. Keep your hands away and stay over the pillow. I don’t want the strap to get you somewhere it shouldn’t,” Sherlock explained. “If you can’t manage that, tell me, and I’ll try to help you. It’ll be a dozen. Are you ready?”

Rose made certain her hands were in front of her and was already balling them into fists. “That’s a completely idiotic question Sherlock. Just get on with it before I can’t be brave about it any longer.”

Sherlock nodded his agreement and moved beside the bed. Part of him wanted to skip this entirely. Mycroft had been very thorough, as usual, and despite having had a bit of a break between then and now her bottom was practically glowing still. Another part of him knew this was necessary, and that part of him recalled the pile of letters he’d gone through at the hospital. Keeping secrets had nearly gotten her killed. Sherlock closed his eyes, picturing her on the pavement, covered in blood.

That was all the motivation he needed to do this. Sherlock raised the strap and brought it down sharply across the middle of her cheeks. He flinched at the sound of it and his heart contracted when Rose cried out in response. Raising the strap again, he brought it down across the crest of her cheeks and landed another right below that.

The second stroke took Rose’s breath away and she gasped for air when the third landed before letting out a wail. Her feet drummed up and down on the bed and she managed to stay over the pillows, despite the overwhelming urge to simply roll away.

“You’re being so brave Rose, so very brave,” Sherlock praised. He could sense she needed it, though he wasn’t entirely certain she’d heard him as she began crying in earnest once more. He raised the strap for the fourth time, bringing it down just as sharply, cringing as it overlapped the first stroke. The fifth landed a little lower, again overlapping. Sherlock hated having to do that, but Rose was rather small.

“No! No! No! Owwww! Sherlock!” Rose pleaded. “No more!”

Sherlock forced himself to ignore her tears, certain this was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. God he hoped the lesson stuck! The thick leather strap fell twice more. “Almost there Rosie, almost there,” he assured her. 

Rose promptly buried her face in the duvet as she continued to sob and drum her feet. The duvet couldn’t cover her wail when the next strokes, eight and nine, landed across her sit spots. 

Ten landed across the top of her thighs and Sherlock cringed at the howl she let out. Uncertain whether it was for him, for her, or the both of them, he quickly delivered the last two smacks across the center of her cheeks before tossing the strap on the floor. Rose’s sobs were heart wrenching and he immediately moved the pillows from underneath her and sat down at her side.

“Can you breathe, with your face in there like that?” Sherlock asked, rubbing her back. “I’m not convinced you can.” No change in her tears, so clearly attempts at levity were not yet appropriate. Time for another tactic. 

“Rosie, it’s alright. It’s all done now and over. No more spanking, hopefully for a very long time. Take some deep breaths for me, will you? That’s what John always says. Not certain if it works, but let’s try it just the same.” Again no luck.

“Let me cuddle you, Rose,” Sherlock said, using a bit of a firmer tone. “Come on, let me cuddle you and make it better. You were a very brave girl, I’m so proud of you.”

Rather than moving so he could comfort her, Rose turned her head towards him. “It hurrrrrrrrrts,” she sobbed. “So bad!”

“Should I rub it a bit? Would that help? You really need to stop crying if you can,” Sherlock said gently. He leaned over to kiss her head before gently rubbing her dark red cheeks. The yelp she let out told him that wasn’t going to work either.

With the utmost care, Sherlock righted her clothing, cringing as she let out another yelp. “What I wouldn’t give for a rocking chair right now,” he murmured as he picked Rose up. He sat down, placing her carefully in his lap and began rocking back and forth slowly. “Shh, it’s all done now,” he soothed. “All done. You were such a brave girl. I’m so proud of you darling, I really am. That was hard, I know it was. You’re my brave, good girl, Rosie.”

It took several minutes for her to calm down, but Sherlock kept up his soothing ministrations until her tears died down to sniffles. “I love you, you know,” he whispered in her ear.

“I know,” Rose whispered back. “I love you too. It really, really hurts though Sherlock.”

He nodded, giving her a sympathetic look. “I know. I’ve had that before, it’s quite mean. I’ll tell you a secret- you took that so much better than I did. Ask Mycroft, he’ll tell you.”

That got him a bit of a smile, and Sherlock felt incredibly relieved to see it. “Will you live to misbehave another day?”

“Probably,” she said, snuggling close. 

“You look exhausted,” Sherlock told her. “And quite awful in general.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “Thank you, brother dear. You always know the right thing to say; must be a gift.”

A knock sounded at the door and the siblings looked over, completely unsurprised to see Mycroft enter the room. “The caterwauling stopped so I thought I’d check in,” he explained.

Rose and Sherlock shared a look before simultaneously tossing pillows in his direction. 

“Was I really caterwauling?” she asked, looking up at Sherlock.

“Not really. Although you might very well have been; you kept your face in the duvet most of the time, so it’s hard to know,” Sherlock admitted. “Is there a reason you’re here Mycroft?”

The eldest Holmes scowled at his younger brother. “I was worried about Rose.”

“There’s too much love going on right now,” Rose commented. “It’s a bit frightening. We don’t do this. We _never_ do this. Very strange, but a bit good too.”

“So the Holmes family as per usual then?” Mycroft inquired. “How are you faring?”

She nodded. “I lived, even enough to misbehave another day,” she assured her older brother. “Your strap, on the other hand, is unlikely to survive the day.”

An eyebrow quirked. “It’s not the only one in the world. It’s replaceable. You, however, aren’t. Do keep that in mind, won’t you, sister mine?”

Rose scrunched up her nose in a look of mild disgust. “Again, too much love going on. I’m not certain I can handle it. Stop being odd, both of you.”

“So you’re done with your cuddle then?” Sherlock asked.

“Well, let’s not be drastic about it,” she amended, blushing.  

Mycroft joined them on the bed and reached over to take Rose’s chin in his hand once more. “Learnt your lesson, Rosenwyn?”

“Yes.”

“You’re entirely certain? Nothing needs further clarification? You’re absolutely clear on where we stand when it comes to keeping secrets and being untruthful?” Mycroft checked.

“I mean it My. I promise it’s all very clear,” she mumbled, blushing again.

He released her chin and sighed. “I was so hoping you would “Yes, sir” me again. That was quite… refreshing.”

Sherlock snorted and tickled her side just a bit. “That was really quite unexpected. I almost started laughing, did you realize? The look of shock on Mycroft’s face was rather amusing as well.”

Rose scowled up at him. “No, I didn’t and it wasn’t a laughing matter. I hate you now. _Both_ of you. Rest assured, My, it’s not likely to happen again. I suggest you savor that memory while your brain still retains new ones.”

“Now this _does_ feel more like us, doesn’t it?” Mycroft mused. 

“We’re awful to each other, but we mean it in a loving sort of way. We don’t indulge in the lovey business _normal_ people do. At least not that we admit,” she giggled.

“Mycroft was hilarious when you were a little thing. Little as in age, considering you’re still on the little end of things in terms of your height,” Sherlock clarified. “He always smiled when he held you, and he’d rock you, and take you in his study to play. 

“There was a point where I worried if you’d even know your name because he was always calling you ‘little lady’ and ‘Baby.’ It was really downright alarming. Though you were rather adorable, especially when you scowled and stamped your foot at him. You tried very hard to act stern as a way to overcome your itty bitty size.”

“Still hate you, but look at his face,” Rose laughed, indicating Mycroft. “It’s brilliant, keep going! I love it when he looks so uncomfortable.”

“You’re both monstrous things,” the eldest Holmes grumbled. “I think I’ll take my leave now. Provided you have no objection?” he asked Rose.

“I’ll text if I need you, promise. Or possibly to confirm silly stories Sherlock tells me about you when I was too little to remember all the warm fuzzy moments.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Lovely. You’re a horrid boy Sherlock; always have been.” He pressed a kiss to Rose’s forehead and then stood up from the bed. “Be a good girl now, will you? Follow doctor’s orders and stop trying to prove you’re indestructible?”

“Scolding time is over now. It’s cuddle time,” Rose informed him with a pout.

“Yes Mycroft, she’s right. Cuddle time.” The uncomfortable look that crossed their older brother’s face at the expression sent them both into peals of laughter as Mycroft exited the room.

\----------------------------------

John was in the kitchen when the siblings emerged from Sherlock’s room. “Coffee’s up, love! Things quieted down and I thought you might need it,” he called out.

“Oh my god yes. Yes, yes, yes. Is there a way to imbibe coffee intravenously?” Rose asked as she entered the kitchen. 

“I’m not answering that question,” John decided.

Rose gave him a smile. “Because it’s ridiculous?”

“No; because I know you’re serious!”

She laughed and fixed her coffee. 

“How are you getting on, love? Were they awful?” John asked, looking her up and down. “Chest or anything else hurt?”

“Well, part of me obviously hurts, but I don’t think that’s what you’re asking,” Rose grumbled. “And in that case, the answer is no. I’m just not going to sit for the rest of my life. I’m horribly picked on.”

“No, you’re horribly behaved,” John corrected with a smile as he pulled her into a hug. “Let me know if you need some arnica cream, alright? Aside from that, did you manage alright?”

Rose relaxed into his hug. “This is lovely, but I can’t drink my coffee like this, and right now I want my coffee.”

He chuckled and let her go after kissing the top of her head. John watched as she took her coffee into the sitting room and stood in the middle of the room. “That bad?”

“Oh yes, that bad. Trying to decide if I can properly drink my coffee while lying on my stomach on the couch. Might work, or I might burn myself,” Rose explained. 

“Is she going to bruise Sherlock?” John asked, giving his friend a _look_.

“Possibly. Didn’t see any in the immediate aftermath,” Sherlock said, commandeering John’s laptop. He nearly dropped it when Rose made an attempt to position herself in John’s comfy chair. 

Rose tried to ease herself gently into the chair. It was so soft and comfortable; surely she could find a somewhat reasonable position in it and drink her coffee. That, unfortunately, turned out not to be the case. As she finally eased into the position, the contact with her bum caused her to howl and immediately stand up, spilling coffee everywhere. “Oh no! My coffee!” she whined, burst into tears. Rose put the cup down on the coffee table and reached back to rub her sore bottom.

Without a word John went up to his room and came back with the arnica cream. “On the couch, love. On your tummy, please.” He shot Sherlock a dirty look.

“Don’t give me that look John. Don’t start. It was very well deserved and I was very careful,” Sherlock replied, sounding a teensy bit defensive. “It’s not much of a punishment if it doesn’t hurt.”

Rose moved over to the couch and lay on her stomach, trying to dry her face with her hands.

John sat down on the floor beside her and chuckled. “I can’t put the cream on your bottom through your clothing,” he pointed out. “Should I do it? I’ll be gentle.”

“Wait, what?” she asked. “No! We can’t do this out here.”

“Why ever not?” he asked, trying not to laugh too hard. “You look so outraged. You realize that it’s just us here, Sherlock and me, and we’ve both seen your bare behind before.”

 “But there’s something indecent about being half naked in a sitting room,” Rose huffed.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Now look at that. You’ve got some common sense and understanding of propriety. What happened with him?” John asked indicating Sherlock. “He walks around in that damn sheet of his without his pants all the time.”

This time Rose giggled. “I’m aware of that. Modesty is an emotion, John. _Sentiment_. Which Sherlock doesn’t recognize, so he has no problem with it.”

“Shut _up_ Rose,” Sherlock grumbled.

“And while he might be fine with it, not everyone is. I’m used to it; he did that at home all the time. Mostly to annoy Mycroft,” Rose continued. “When Louise showed up the other day for a chat, she was horribly embarrassed to see him prancing around in that sheet. I told her she best text next time she wants over.”

“Rosenwyn Aramantha Holmes I _do not_ prance! In sheets or otherwise!” Sherlock stated loudly.

“Sometimes you do in that poncy coat of yours,” John told him, laughing loudly. When he calmed down he turned his attention back to Rose. “We could borrow Sherlock’s room, if you’re embarrassed.”

She shook her head. “I suppose it doesn’t matter much. Be so, so gentle, will you? It’s terribly sore.”

“Of course love.” John kissed the top of her head before baring her bum with utmost care.

“You spoil her terribly John,” Sherlock grumbled, not meaning a word of it.

John, completely ignoring him, let out a low whistle at the state of her bottom. “They really did do a number on you, didn’t they?” he murmured. “I don’t see any bruising, but I’ll put the cream on. It’ll make it feel better all around. Are you ready? I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

When she nodded, he carefully applied the arnica cream to her backside. “There we are,” John said when he finished. He helped her ease her clothing up and then went to wash his hands and put the cream away. 

By the time he returned, Rose was fast asleep on the couch. He leaned over to kiss her head and could practically feel Sherlock’s eye rolling.

“You’re a push over John.”

“Sherlock Holmes, don’t you even try and tell me that you’re any less wrapped around her finger than I am!”

 

 


	20. Going Forward One Step At a Time

“Good morning, love,” John greeted Rose. “Ready for a big day? Back to work and dance?”

Rose scowled and went right for the coffee maker.

“Not ready to talk yet. Got it,” he chuckled.

Once she’d drunk half the coffee in the mug, Rose finally spoke. “Thank you, for breakfast. It’s yummy. Omelets are my favorite. And for not allowing my non-morning person self to offend you.”

John flashed her a smile. “Not a problem,” he assured her. “I still like you, even when you refuse to talk to me right away in the morning. I know it’s in the best interests of my own personal safety.” She’d told him that, several times in the past, and he only half heartedly believed she could be that awful.

“Oh, it is,” Rose assured him. “Trust me. Or ask Sherlock if you don’t believe me. I’m a horrible morning person.”

John joined her at the kitchen table with his own breakfast and a cup of coffee. “So, are you ready? Excited?”

She sighed and shook her head.

“No? You’ve got to be kidding. I thought for sure you’d be ready to go. You haven’t left the flat in two weeks! And you’ve been itching to dance,” he pointed out.

“I know. I admit I’m worried about the competition. It’s just two weeks from today. Speaking of dance, will you be around tonight?”

“Yeah, why?”

“My feet are going to be awful again when I get home. The two week break won’t have done them any good,” Rose pointed out. “I’d like my doctor who fusses in a nice way over me to make them feel better.”

John chuckled. “Of course. Though some socks while you practice would help.”

“Completely unattractive,” Rose said. “And strange.” She fell silent, looking pensive as she continued to eat her omelet.

“What’s wrong love?”

“I’m scared,” Rose whispered. “To leave the building and interact with people. And just in general of being out there, all vulnerable.”

He took her hands and gently tugged her out of her chair and pulled her onto his lap. “You can’t hide forever,” John said gently, wrapping his arms around her. “Life happens outside, you know? Just because one thing went wrong, terribly wrong in fact, doesn’t mean only bad things will happen to you.”

“But what if it does? I don’t want to be a victim again,” Rose whispered. “What if I leave and something bad happens to me?”

“What if you leave and nothing happens at all except an ordinary day?” John asked. “Do you really want to make yourself a prisoner here forever?”

She shook her head. “No, not really. I suppose if I do that, on some level then, he wins.”

“That’s very true. And I think you’re over looking one very, very important thing to remember about that great wide world out there,” John replied.

Rose frowned a bit in thought. “What’s that?”

“Mycroft. Do you honestly think after this that he, or one of his minions, won’t be watching your every move on CCTV? I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he had you discreetly followed, too,” he admitted.

“That… is somehow both disturbing and reassuring at the same time,” she said quietly. “I like the thought that he won’t let me be hurt again. But I’d also really like a bit of privacy as well. I mean, good god, what if I’m on a date and kiss said date and he sees it? That’s all kinds of vulgar, don’t you think?”

John threw his head back and laughed. “You do make an interesting point. I don’t think Mycroft will listen to you, though, if you mount a protest. He’s awfully protective of you. It’s sweet, yet very, very odd.”

She giggled. “I know, right? He makes people quake in their boots every single day and runs the greater part of the free world. No one would ever expect it! He’s changed, you know.”

“Has he?”

“Yes. He’s changed from how he was when I went off, and even from how he was when I first came back,” Rose mused. “There was a time before I left when I wasn’t certain if he really cared beyond whether or not what I was doing would reflect badly on him. I wasn’t angelic by any means, but I wasn’t completely awful either.”

“I’m sure you weren’t any worse than any other teenager that’s ever existed,” John said. “It’s very clear you love them both and that they love you.”

Rose smiled. “I do. Very much. Gotten rather attached to you, too, you know.”

“Same here,” John assured her. “Even when you refuse to speak to me before you have your morning coffee.”

“Well if you weren’t such a blasted sunshiny and happy morning person,” she grumbled, but her eyes twinkled. “Thanks for the pep talk John. And for everything you do, truly.” Rose kissed his cheek before getting up, smiling as he blushed a bit.

“I’ve got to get ready. Wouldn’t do to be late my first day back,” she told him. “I’ll pop in and say goodbye before I take off.”

“I’ll walk to you to the station,” John offered. “Ready when you are. Not babying you, mind. Just being a gentleman.”

Rose gave him a bright smile. “I’d like that.” After taking one last swig of her coffee, she hurried back to her own flat to get ready.

\-------------------------------

There it was; the coffee shop. That was where it had all began. She’d met Mark, she’d been friendly, and he’d acted like such a gentleman. And then, he’d stalked her and tried to kill her. She wanted to go inside, so very badly. To be brave and hold her head high, get her drink and one for Lestrade and act as if everything was alright.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

Rose jumped and whirled around, the rising panic in her stomach disappearing as soon as she saw Lestrade. “Greg, don’t scare me like that!” she scolded. “I was really frightened for a minute.”

“Sorry,” he replied, looking a bit sheepish. “I thought you might like some company this morning while you get coffee. I was worried.”

“I’d love some company. I’m not feeling very brave right now,” Rose admitted quietly.

“That’s to be expected, and there’s nothing wrong with that. We’ve got counselors, if you’re interested,” Lestrade told her. “But that’s a conversation for another time, if you want to have it. For now, let’s go in, yeah?” He offered her his arm.

Rose linked her arm through his and they started off across the street to the coffee shop. “So, was this your idea or John’s? Or did you two conspire together?”

“I had thought about it, but didn’t want you to think I was trying to be your minder. But John did text and that settled the issue for me,” Lestrade admitted.

“There are moments where he’s worse than my brothers, truly,” Rose laughed. “And I’m always torn between wanting to tell him off and just feeling pleased about it.”

Lestrade held the door open for her and Rose took a deep breath before walking inside. It all looked the same, so very, very normal, and that really helped her feel better. It was as if nothing had ever happened.

“Rose! I’m so glad you’re out and about!” Louise hurried away from the counter and hugged her friend tightly.

Rose returned the hug, pasting a smile on her face. “It feels weird,” she whispered. “But I’m glad I came in, even if I couldn’t quite manage it on my own.”

“You coming back to dance tonight, too? Everyone will be so thrilled to see you. They hound me for updates constantly,” Louise admitted.

“Yeah, I’ll be back, to teach and practice myself. Alfred and I have loads of work to do. But before that, Greg and I need our coffee so we can get back to work, though I’d much rather stay and chat all day.” Rose looked over at Lestrade and shrugged her shoulders, saying, “Sorry.”

Lestrade waved her off. “Her drinks are on me today, Louise. Don’t take any of her money.”

“You’re ridiculous, Greg. Don’t listen to him,” Rose laughed.

“Hush,” Louise told her. “I’ll have both of your drinks ready in a moment. Up to the register please, Detective Inspector.”

\-------------------------------------------

With drinks in hand, Rose and Lestrade took the lift up to his division at NSY. “Don’t let me overwork you today. If you need to leave early, or take a rest, you will do so. Understand?”

“Such bossy men in my life,” Rose grumbled. “But yes, I understand. And I thank you. I’m fine though. John wouldn’t have let me leave if I wasn’t.”

“Good girl,” Lestrade said, giving her a wink.

They exited the lift and were greeted by a round of applause from the officers that took Rose by surprise. She shrank back a little, her eyes going wide. “Why are they so excited? We didn’t bring them coffee. I don’t understand.”

“They’re happy you’re here. Alive and well,” he told her. “Alright, alright! Enough of that, back to work!” Lestrade called out. “You’re embarrassing her. Settle!”

Rose smiled and waved awkwardly back at everyone.

“In my office miss,” Lestrade said with a smile. “Loads of work for you to do. It’s been dreadful without your help, seriously. I’ve only just barely managed.”

She rolled her eyes. “Liar. Lead the way, boss.”

Lestrade gave her a curious look. “You’ve never called me boss before.”

“Well, it seemed fitting just then,” Rose laughed. “Don’t get all excited about it, especially since I don’t actually work for you.”

“You could, you know. We’ve talked about it before.”

“Don’t let Mycroft know you’ve made that offer. He’d jump on it on my behalf in a second so he could stop helping me with my rent,” she admitted.

“So it’s settled then?” Lestrade asked with a grin. “You’ll stay on and get paid when your hours are up. It can be your Christmas present to Mycroft.”

“He hates Christmas.”

“All the more reason then, it’ll annoy him.”

Rose threw back her head and laughed. “Alright fine! But probably not full time or Mycroft will get his hopes up that I’ll get over the professional dance career idea. We’ll worry about hours and money later on. I still owe you some sixty hours I think.”

“Forty-six,” Lestrade corrected. “And there’s plenty of time to work out the finer details of employment later on.”

\---------------------------------

Four hours later, Rose nearly jumped out of her chair when her mobile rang. It never rang, because no one ever called her. Everyone knew she hated talking on her mobile. She looked down at it and didn’t recognize the number, but she answered it anyway. “Hello?”

“Rose? Is this Rose Holmes?” a male voice asked.

“It is. Who is this?” Rose tried to fight the feelings of panic that were settling in.

“It’s Owen North. Sergeant Owen North.”

“Sergeant O--. Oh! From the military ball, I remember now,” Rose admitted with a smile. “That seems like such a long time ago. How are you?”

“I’m quite well, thank you. I’ve been out of town for a while and just got back. I heard… I heard what happened and wanted to check that you were alright,” Owen admitted.

Rose took a deep breath. “As alright as I’ll ever be I think. That was sweet of you to call.”

“I had another reason, too. I was wondering if you might… Well… Er. If you’d consider having a drink with me sometime. Any drink at all anywhere you’d like.”

She smiled. “You sound so horribly nervous Owen and you shouldn’t,” she said quietly. “I think I’d like that. Can it be someplace close to home? My home I mean.”

“Yes! Yes, anywhere is just fine. When are you free?”

“Well, I’ve got to think on that. Not putting you off, but I’ve just gotten back to work and have loads to do. How about Friday evening? There’s a little café by my house, on Baker Street. Should we say six?”

“Sounds just fine.” Owen paused to write down the name when she gave it to him.

“It’s not a fancy place,” Rose warned him.

“I understand if you want to stay close to home,” Owen assured her. “After… after everything. I don’t take it as an insult. It just means I need to earn your trust.”

“When you put it like that it sounds awful,” Rose admitted quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s perfectly alright. I’ll see you Friday.”

“See you Friday at six. I should go, my boss is glaring at me,” Rose said with a little laugh. They said their goodbyes and she hung up her mobile.

Lestrade was not, in fact, glaring at her but he was watching her with a confused look on his face. When he saw her looking over at him, he waved his hand, summoning her into his office.

Rose dutifully got up and entered his office. “I think I’m an idiot,” she announced, taking a seat in one of the chairs.

“I wouldn’t say that. What makes you think so?” he asked, frowning.

“I just agreed to meet a man I met at the military ball for coffee on Friday. Considering my recent track record, I think I’m an idiot.”

“You didn’t date him,” Lestrade pointed out, meaning Mark.

“But I would have had he asked me,” Rose admitted. “And I don’t know why I’m even telling you this. Sorry, you’re just sort of here.” She shrugged a bit, looking embarrassed. “I can’t just hide away forever. I’ve got to live my life, right? Just nod at me, even if I’m wrong, so I’ll feel better. And again, sorry I’m doing this. Completely embarrassed right now.” Her face went red and she shifted a bit in her seat.

Lestrade merely chuckled and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Want me to run his name?”

“Would you? Really? If I ask Mycroft there’s a good chance the poor fellow would be abducted off the street never to be seen again,” Rose said in all seriousness.

“Write it down and I’ll let you know before you leave,” Lestrade promised. “Now back to work with you.” He sent her on her way with a smile and immediately began running the name through all the usual databases.

\-----------------------

“He’s clean as a whistle,” Lestrade told her before she headed out for the day.

“That’s a relief,” Rose admitted, buttoning her coat up. “Don’t say anything to anyone, will you? Seriously, my brothers will be a nightmare if they find out.”

“I won’t say a word. Do you need a lift somewhere?”

“To the studio if it won’t be a bother. I can always ask Mycroft to send a car.”

Lestrade shook his head and asked one of the officers to take her. “See you tomorrow then. Want to meet at the coffee shop again?”

Rose gave him a smile. “I think I’ll try to be brave on my own tomorrow. But I’ll let you know if that changes.” With a little wave, she headed towards the lift and was soon on her way to the studio.

\------------------------------

“John’s mad at you, you know,” Rose said by way of greeting Alfred. “I’d steer clear for a bit, he’ll give you a lecture the next time he sees you. Thinks you’re a bad influence.”

“Oh, that’s rich,” Alfred laughed good-naturedly. “Maybe you’re the bad influence on me!”

“That’s the more likely answer, to be honest,” Rose laughed. “And I could have said no, but I didn’t.” She sat on a chair and put on her heels. “Two weeks, Alfred. Two weeks from tonight, we compete. Are we going to be ready?”

“I think so. We’re good! We’re well matched, you and I, the choreography is tight, timing and musicality spot on. I’m sure about us. Are you?”

“I hope my stamina is up for it is all. For all my whining about resting, I know John was- is- right. I have to be careful. But, if my stamina can take it and I haven’t gotten too rusty since we last practiced, I think we’re golden,” Rose told him.

She got up from the chair and approached him, smiling brightly. “Feels good to be back in here. Now, proper frame! Let’s be impressive!”

\---------------------------------------------

At precisely eleven that night, Mycroft Holmes was sitting in his car waiting for Rose to come out of her dance studio. Only a moment or two passed before someone came out but it wasn’t Rose.

“Hello Mr. Holmes,” Louise greeted him, opening the car door.

“Louise. You can call me Mycroft now, if you’d like,” he offered, frowning slightly.

“Thanks. It’d be weird though,” she decided. “Anyway, Alfred is going to bring Rose out in a minute.”

“Bring her out? As in not on her own power will she be exiting?”

Louise nodded. “Yeah. Rough practice.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes and got out of the car, only to see Alfred carrying out a protesting Rose. “Can you really not go anywhere without bringing trouble with you Rose?” he asked, scowling at her.

“Apparently not. I’m fine, I can walk!”

“No, she can’t,” Alfred said firmly. “Her feet are really hurting her. It’s been too long and she worked too hard.”

“Don’t give him incentive to continue scolding Alfred,” Rose begged. “He’ll be insufferable.”

“Oh for god’s sake, just put her in the car,” Mycroft said with a sigh before getting back in on the driver’s side.

Rose was deposited inside the vehicle and buckled herself in for the trip to Baker Street. “I’m fine. My feet just aren’t used to dancing so hard for so long. Two weeks break will do that.”

“It must be more than that if your dance partner felt compelled to carry you out of the building, sister dear,” Mycroft stated.

She let out an exaggerated sigh. “Hate you, My.”

“Please refrain from outbursts of sentiment Rose, it’s alarming.”

\--------------------------------

“No!”

“Yes!”

“No!”

John and Sherlock shared a look at the sound of raised voices downstairs. A moment later, Mycroft entered the flat carrying Rose in his arms.

“He’s an idiot, I’m fine.”

“Shut up Rose,” Mycroft growled, dropping her onto the couch none too gently. He rolled his eyes when that made her laugh and then disappeared from the flat.

“What was that?” John asked, laughing.

“My feet are in rough shape, as I suspected they would be. Alfred wouldn’t let me walk out to the car and Mycroft wouldn’t let me walk up here,” Rose explained. “They _are_ painful though.”

“Still refusing to wear socks?” Sherlock asked.

“Shut up,” she grumbled.

“Let me get my kit and I’ll take a look.”

As John headed up to his room for the kit, Rose began carefully unlacing her sneakers and easing them off her feet, wincing as she did so.

“Is that blood on your socks? Are your feet bleeding?” John asked, sitting down on the floor by her feet.

“Very good John, your deduction skills are improving,” Sherlock quipped.

Rose rolled her eyes. “Yes and yes. I’m not entirely sure how it happened. Probably some blisters popped and rubbed the skin raw. I didn’t even notice right away, I was working too hard.”

“You’re so mean to yourself, love,” John replied, shaking his head. “I’ll disinfect them and bandage them up until morning. Socks, Rosenwyn Holmes, socks. You have them; you will wear them for the next two days. And if you tell me no, I will show up at the studio and make sure you’ve got them on. Do you hear me?”

Sherlock chuckled. “First _and_ last name Rose. The good doctor means business!”

“He always means business,” Rose retorted. “No need to fuss at me so much. I’ll wear them tomorrow and the next day. I promise. Despite all evidence to the contrary, I actually do care about my feet and sort of need them, being a dancer and all.”

John sat there for several seconds. “Well what do you know? I can’t even believe it. Is this really happening Sherlock? Is she actually agreeing to something I say?”

Rose rolled her eyes. “Be quiet, you. I’m not always contrary you know.”

“Could have fooled me,” Sherlock added.

John ignored his flat mate and gave Rose a grin.

“And before you ask, I drank lots and lots of water and had my snacks,” she added.

“That’s my good girl,” John said, grinning again.

“Sherlock, can you step out for a minute? I need to talk to John,” Rose said suddenly.

“What? Why? This is my flat you know.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that, but I’m in here already and John’s doctoring my feet. I need to ask him something as a doctor,” Rose tried to explain.

“Why? What else is wrong with you now?” Sherlock demanded.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, I need to talk to him about _woman_ issues Sherlock! I didn’t think I’d have to spell it out for you!”

Sherlock looked absolutely horrified and practically ran out of the flat, dressing gown billowing behind him as he exited.

“I’m just a GP Rose,” John pointed out quietly. “I can refer you to someone at surgery if you’d like.”

“No, I didn’t really mean what I said, but Sherlock wasn’t going to leave and that always makes him run off. I need a favor.”

“Oh. What sort of favor?”

“I’m having coffee with someone on Friday at the café. A male someone, that I met at the military ball. I’d really appreciate it if you could keep Sherlock away from here, or at least distract him somewhat, because he’s ridiculous when it comes to me and boys,” Rose admitted. “He and Mycroft both.”

John looked thoughtful for a moment. “I’m proud of you, Rose. Really, I am. I don’t know if I’d agree to meet with someone so soon after what you went through. I can’t promise to keep Sherlock away, but I’ll do my best. Now, more importantly, what do you know about him?”

“Clean as a whistle. I had Lestrade check for me.”

“Good. Well, I hope it goes well. You could do with some fun and happiness, I think.”

“I’m not unhappy, you know,” Rose said quietly.

“Oh, I know. You smile and laugh too much for me to think otherwise. And I know you well enough that I know when you don’t mean it,” John reassured her. “But it would be nice for you to find someone to date, someone your age that treats you properly.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Coffee is just coffee,” she told him firmly. “But I really would like to keep my brothers as far out of the loop as is possible. I’d rather not have him frightened away before I decide if I want more than coffee.”

John nodded and then called for Sherlock to come back in and watched with amusement as his best friend entered and looked at them both through narrowed eyes.

“She alright?”

“Yes, yes, she’s just fine Sherlock. Some things are just delicate and not for a brother’s ears,” John said seriously. “She’s right as rain, other than her feet. But they’ll be alright too.”

Sherlock scrutinized John for a moment longer before he nodded and sat back down in his chair. “Good. Good to hear. Nothing I should be aware of?”

“I know that’s not a serious question Sherlock, so I won’t answer it,” Rose laughed. “Your concern is very touching.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Insufferable brat.”

“Love you too,” Rose replied.

 

 


	21. Three's a Crowd

Today was the big day of her coffee date with Owen. Rose was, surprisingly enough, excited about it. She’d been back and forth with her feelings on it all week, sometimes feeling terrified, others mildly panicked, and others still determinedly resolute to keep her date.“Alright, let’s not try too hard. Can’t give the wrong impression. Fun, confident, not fast and loose with my virtue,” Rose murmured to herself as she surveyed her make-up collection.

She paused and frowned, thinking on what she’d just said. “Alright, must stop reading those historical romances for a while. Could lead to alarming uses of nineteenth century terminology and frighten him. It’s good to be smart, but not _too_ smart. Especially when you’re a Holmes. I’m really over thinking this, aren’t I? And why am I having this conversation aloud with my reflection? I need a pet so this wouldn’t seem quite so odd.” It was a good thing she lived alone.

While Rose fussed with her make-up, hair and clothes, Sherlock and John were hiding in an alley across the street. “She’s going to have our heads if she catches us Sherlock,” John pointed out. “Especially mine! I’m supposed to be on her side and prevent you from doing this.”

“She can hardly blame you for that,” Sherlock countered. “After all, I’m the one that laced your tea with a chemical to make you more pliant for questioning.”

_Two Days Prior_

“Tea?” Sherlock offered as John entered the flat.

“You made tea? You never make your own tea,” John responded, frowning.

“Of course I do, John. There’s just little point in doing it if someone else will do it for me. You weren’t here until a moment ago, so I had no choice. Mrs. Hudson didn’t answer when I called for her.”

John laughed. “That’s because she’s not our housekeeper, Sherlock, and you know that.”

“Do you or do you not want tea?”

“I do, thanks.” John accepted the cup of tea and sat down in his chair, ready to relax after a long day of runny nosed children and their cranky mums.

Sherlock returned to his work but glanced over at John on occasion to assess how much tea he’d drunk. When the cup was finally drained, he left his microscope and went to sit in his chair, examining his flat mate with his eyes.

“John.”

The man in question looked half asleep but managed to open his eyes and try to focus on Sherlock. “Feel weird.”

“You’re fine, I’m a graduate chemist,” Sherlock reassured him. “What’s going on with my sister? There’s something going on, I know it, and I know that you know what it is.”

“Nothing. Don’t know nothing,” John slurred, closing his eyes.

Sherlock clapped his hands loudly, causing the other man to jump. “Concentrate John! What is going on with Rose?”

“Can’t tell you. Distract you,” he murmured.

Sherlock grinned like a Cheshire cat. “Now we’re getting somewhere. When were you supposed to distract me?”

“Friday.”

“From what?”

His only response was a snore. Rolling his eyes, Sherlock got up and gave John a bit of a shake. “I’ll let you sleep it off if you tell me. What are you supposed to be distracting me from?”

John tried halfheartedly to push Sherlock away, but Sherlock wouldn’t budge. “Coffee date. Having coffee.”

Sherlock frowned. “That’s hardly something I need to be distracted from. She drinks coffee constantly and has many friends she drinks it with. Louise for example. Details John! I need details! And quickly, you’re going to pass out within the next sixty seconds. Who is she having coffee with?”

John’s eyes began rolling back in his head as he murmured, “Army man.”

Sherlock immediately released his grip on John, letting him pass out and begin snoring in his chair.

_Present_

“This is wrong Sherlock. You know it’s wrong,” John scolded. “We shouldn’t be here doing this. It doesn’t indicate trust in Rose if we do this.”

“It’s not about trusting her. It’s about the boy, obviously John,” he replied, sounding impatient. “And I won’t stop you if you want to leave. Suit yourself, leave, and go back into the flat or to the pub.”

John scowled darkly. “You know I can’t do that. I have to stay here and keep you from not only making a complete idiot out of yourself, but ruining your sister’s first step at getting back to normal.”

“Then stop complaining and pay attention.”

 

\------------------------

“Alright, casual. I told him casual. Not likely to show up in a uniform. So that means I need to be casual too. This is casual, but not _too_ casual. Really need to stop talking out loud to myself,” Rose huffed.

She took a good look at herself in the mirror and was pleased with what she saw. Hair-up in a messy bun, not too messy, just the right sort of messy. Check. Light make-up, soft pink lip, freckles covered. Check. Best pair of jeans, her pretty red jumper that looked so nice with her dark hair, check and check. Last but not least, a pair of shoes with just a little bit of a heel, but still understated. Never hurt to feel a bit taller!

Rose grabbed her purse, locked the door of her flat behind her, and headed downstairs.

\--------------------------------

“Hmm,” Sherlock mused as he watched his sister exit the building. She entered the café and selected a table more towards the back, which made him scowl because it would be much harder to see her over there. Too much traffic in that part of Speedy’s.

“What’s “hmm”?” John asked.

“Make-up, she rarely wears it, trying to impress but its light, so she wants to appear natural and get rid of those freckles.”

John frowned. He liked her freckles! Just a little dash right across her nose and cheek bones. He’d always found them endearing and had never understood why so many women hated their freckles.

“Red emphasizes her dark hair and makes her eyes appear brighter, so she clearly wants to dress attractively without being obvious about it,” Sherlock continued, unaware of John’s thoughts. “Slight heel on her shoe; being a little taller, even just a bit, gives her more confidence. Despite her hair being that messy sort of up-do, and appearing to be a very effortless, it’s been carefully arranged and secretly pinned into place under her curls so it doesn’t come undone. In short, dressed to impress but styled in a way that makes that fact less obvious.”

John was silent for a moment until Sherlock glanced over his shoulder at him. “I’m trying to decide if you really deduced that just now, or if you know your sister well enough to know all that already.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked over at the café again. “I wish she’d sat elsewhere. I won’t be able to make out what they’re saying from here.”

“You’re not going in there Sherlock. Don’t even think about,” John said firmly. “You can’t ruin this for her and you know that’s exactly what you’ll do.”

“I will do no such thing,” Sherlock retorted. “Other than in the course of my brotherly duties, naturally.”

John rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache coming on already. This was going to go terribly wrong and he knew it.

“Ah, I do believe our mystery fellow has arrived,” Sherlock commented.

Unable to quell his curiosity, John moved closer to his flat mate to get a better look at the young man in question. He was tall, a good bit taller than Rose, with dark features, and walked with that military bearing John knew so well. He frowned, though he couldn’t put his finger on why. Something felt off; really off in fact. After all, he couldn’t possibly be jealous. That would be completely ridiculous! No, most definitely not that. It had to be something else, John was certain of it.

“His right leg is just over one inch shorter than his left,” Sherlock stated.

“What? How can you possibly know that?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “You see, but you do not observe John. Look at his shoes.”

“They’re expensive.”

This time he let out a sigh of frustration. “They’re expensive because they’re specially made. The right sole is thicker than the other, not by a huge margin, but definitely noticeable if you’re paying attention. There’s a lift in the shoe as well to even him out.”

They watched as the young man entered the café and looked for Rose. Spotting her, he headed for the table. Rose stood up and they greeted one another warmly, shaking hands, then took their seats.

“He didn’t even pull her chair out for her,” John said, frowning.

Sherlock chuckled. “I’m not entirely sure Rose cares about those things. It’s generational, they know better than to expect young men to be gentlemen anymore.”

“It’s disgraceful just the same,” John decided. “And it doesn’t make me feel very confident about the coming generations.”

“Be Mycroft for an hour and you will really despair over the continued downward slide of humanity.”

\---------------------------------------

“Owen! So glad you made you it,” Rose greeted, getting up from her chair.

“I’ve been looking forward to it,” the young man admitted. He shook Rose’s hand when she extended it before taking a seat at the table. “When you said casual you really meant casual.”

Rose blushed a bit. “Yeah. I live next door,” she admitted. “So it’s sort of home turf.”

“Oh, I’m not complaining, promise,” Owen assured her with a smile. “It’s nice to be out and about dressed like a civilian.”

“I bet! I’m sure you don’t enjoy your uniform as often as women enjoying seeing one,” Rose quipped.

“Very true!” Owen laughed. “Although that part has definite perks,” he admitted. “So was it the uniform that convinced you to give me your number?”

“Hardly. You weren’t the only uniformed man at the ball,” she told him with a grin. “But you were charming and an excellent dancer and I really appreciate good dancers. Plus we had some nice discourse as well.”

Owen snickered. “Discourse?”

“Yes, discourse,” Rose mumbled, blushing.

“I’m teasing! Promise,” he hurried to assure her. “Smart girls are sexy.”

Now she was really blushing! “I’m glad you think so. I try not to be obnoxious about it,” Rose admitted.

\------------------------------------

“God I wish I knew what they were saying! She’s blushing, look at her,” Sherlock directed, thrusting the binoculars at John. He didn’t notice that John didn’t bother to look. “How long are they going to be in there?”

“They just got their drinks, Sherlock. And does it really matter how long they’re in there? As long as she’s alright, that’s the important part.”

“I don’t like this. I really don’t. Why did she feel as though she needs to keep a coffee date from me?” Sherlock questioned. “I’m not unreasonable.”

“Probably because she knew you’d do this,” John pointed out. “And if not you, then Mycroft, if not the both of you. Have you always been this way with her?”

“What way? Protective, wanting to make sure she only sees appropriate men? If that’s what you mean, then yes, I have always been this way.”

John watched as his friend stood up and moved out of the alley. “Wait! Where are you going?”

“In there, obviously John.”

“Sherlock, no! Don’t do that! She won’t thank you for it,” John stated firmly. “You know she won’t.”

“Well, considering she kept the fact that she was being stalked all to herself for well over two weeks, I would prefer to judge her safety myself,” Sherlock said in all seriousness. “And if she can’t protect herself, I’m more than happy to act on her behalf. I’m not convinced that young man’s intentions are honorable.”

It took little effort to convince the on duty manager to let him pose as a server. He and John were the café’s best customers and when Sherlock mentioned it was for a case, they were more than happy to help. Within a few minutes, Sherlock was dressed in a spare uniform, wearing a borrowed pair of glasses, and a cap on his head.

John found himself at a loss. Should he stop Sherlock? And would his efforts to stop the man actually do any good? Should he try and slip into the café unnoticed and try to keep the chaos at a minimum? In the end, he slipped into the café and took a seat at a table as far from Rose as he could and prayed Sherlock wouldn’t do anything stupid.

\----------------------------------

“I can’t believe you like musicals! I’ve never known any guy who likes musicals. So really, the most pertinent question then is this- Fred Astaire or Gene Kelly?”

Owen grinned. “Fred Astaire. Not that I don’t appreciate Gene Kelly’s talents by any means, but he’s a much more… athletic dancer, if that makes sense. Couldn’t pull of the top hat and tails, which Astaire does to perfection.”

Rose beamed as if he had handed her the moon. “That is precisely how I feel! Two completely different styles but I’m--”

“Refill? Ready to order something to eat?” A voice interrupted.

Rose turned her head and looked up, shocked to see a familiar face. Her whole body tensed as she surveyed her brother, wearing a server’s uniform, cap and glasses in a ridiculous effort to disguise himself. This was low even for Sherlock, who could disguise himself quite effectively when the occasion called for it.

“Actually I could use some more coffee,” Rose responded, an eyebrow quirked.

“We could order something to eat, too, if you’d like,” Owen offered. When she nodded, he gave his order and watched as Rose gave hers.

“Everything alright? You got really tense just now,” he asked when the server departed.

“Yes, I’m just fine,” Rose hurried to assure him.

“Is it hard, being out and about? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t pry,” Owen decided, blushing.

“No, it’s alright. It’s sort of the elephant in the room, isn’t it? I’ve been a bit jumpy all week, to be honest. That probably won’t go away any time soon, but I’m trying really hard not to let my fears keep me from living,” she confided.

Owen looked thoughtful as he considered her words. “You’re very open, aren’t you? Honest I mean. I really like that.”

“I’ve never seen any reason to be otherwise. It serves no purpose to hide away who you are,” Rose explained. “I like who I am.”

He smiled in return and reached for her hand. “I’m enjoying getting to know you. I hope if things keep going well, we can do this again.”

Rose jumped a bit when he touched her hand, but relaxed and allowed him to hold it. She smiled when he squeezed it gently. “I feel very comfortable with you, and that’s step one, so I think there’s a definite chance of another little date.” The smile he gave her made her heart flutter.

“Let’s take it one step at a time, then,” Owen decided.

At just that moment Sherlock stepped up to the table and saw them holding hands. They’d only been there for twenty minutes! Much too fast for his taste. The coffee he had been about to pour into Owen’s cup went all over Owen instead. And not just one cup’s worth, the entire pot.

Owen cried out in shock and pain as the hot liquid was poured all over his chest and lap.

“Sherlock!” Rose shouted. She had no doubts whatsoever that that had been completely intentional. She pushed her brother away and got up, moving to Owen’s side. “Oh my god, are you ok? I’m so, so sorry.” She tried desperately to clean him up a bit with the napkins, but Owen moved away.

“That was deliberate!” he shouted at the server. “What is wrong with you? I’ve been burnt!”

“You’re a bit fast for my sister, young man. Keep your hands off her and you won’t be hurt. She’s a _lady_ and she’ll stay that way, thank you,” Sherlock growled.

“Sister? He’s your brother?” Owen shouted.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Rose admitted. “My idiot brother who I am unlikely to speak to ever again. I’m so sorry Owen. Let’s get a taxi and take you in to surgery and get checked out.” She looked over towards the door and that’s when she spotted John who was hurrying over towards him.

“No, no! I don’t want anything to do with anyone who has a psycho for a brother! I’d like to live to see a few more years of my life, thanks.” Owen grabbed his jacket and stormed out of Speedy’s to hail a cab.

Rose turned her attention to her brother. “Are you proud of yourself? How could you do that Sherlock? He hadn’t done anything wrong and you likely burnt him badly for absolutely no good reason.”

“It’s my job to protect you,” Sherlock stated firmly. “He was too fast.”

“It was just my hand and I could have pulled it away! Sherlock, my god, you are so impossible! And I am so angry with you, I can’t even find the words! This is Bobby Sanders all over again.”

_Eight Years Prior_

For a twelve year old attending high school, it was incredibly flattering that one of the school’s best athletes wanted anything to do with her, Rose thought. She didn’t think much beyond the fact that she felt very special and grown up and never for a minute considered how her brothers would feel about the matter.

Bobby walked her to class, carried her backpack, made sure she wasn’t picked on by anyone. It was nice and it made school nice, which was often a rare occurrence in recent years. Then it all came crashing down one day.

“I’m going to miss you over winter break,” she told Bobby, looking up at him adoringly.

Bobby grinned. “I’ll miss you too. Think I might be able to come over?”

“Possibly. I’ll have to make sure no one else is home first,” Rose admitted.

“Call me, alright?”

She nodded and her heart began to beat wildly as Bobby’s face moved closer to hers. Oh my god, Rose thought, he’s going to kiss me! She didn’t even know how to kiss anyone! He took her chin in his hand, leaned down and she closed her eyes, waiting for the kiss.

Instead Rose heard an unmanly shriek and the whooshing of air. Opening her eyes, she watched Sherlock tackle Bobby onto the pavement before punching his face. She could practically hear his nose break on contact.

“Sherlock, oh my god! Sherlock, get off him!” Rose shrieked, trying to pull her brother off of her poor beleaguered beau.

“You don’t touch her! You don’t _ever_ touch her! Your intentions are not honorable!” Sherlock shouted at the young man. “Stay away from her, or I’ll break every bone in your body!”

A few more good swings connected with the boy’s gut before Sherlock got off him and was greeted with his own punch to the face from Rose.

“What the hell was that?” she demanded.

Sherlock didn’t bother to answer her. He merely seized her wrist and began pulling her away from the scene.

“He was fine! I was fine with it! We weren’t doing anything wrong!” she protested.

“You’re twelve.”

“Obviously, but what is your point? That was completely ridiculous!”

“You are not allowed to date or interact with boys. You’re only twelve,” Sherlock said sternly.

“We haven’t even gone on an actual date! And I know how old I am you git!” Rose shouted.

“Excellent. Don’t plan on dating before you’re 30, let alone allowing anyone to kiss you before then.”

Rose’s mouth dropped open as he shoved her into a taxi. “You cannot be serious. Sherlock, that’s completely unreasonable. Even Mycroft isn’t that bad!”

“No, he wouldn’t have tackled him,” Sherlock admitted. “He would have abducted that fast young man and then broken bones, rather than make it a public spectacle. I wouldn’t count on support from him.”

“I’m being raised by lunatics. Absolute lunatics. Do you not know how hard school is for me Sherlock? People don’t like me! Bobby kept people from picking on me and he _liked_ me! You’re ruining my life!” Rose gave into her tears and turned away from Sherlock as the cab took them home.

_Present_

“And don’t think I’m any happier with you, John Watson. Don’t think I didn’t see you come in here. I was just hoping you were keeping a very discreet eye on things. It never occurred to me that you were in on this charade of my brother’s,” Rose told the doctor.

“I can explain, I--”

She cut him off. “I’m sure you have a perfectly logical explanation for all of it but I don’t care to hear it. Not now, probably not ever.” Rose whirled around to look her brother. “And you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, I am _never_ speaking to you again!”

Grabbing her things from the chair, Rose ran out of the café and back to her flat.

“Hey, that bill needs to be settled,” an actual server spoke up. Sherlock dropped some pounds on the counter and exited, intending to go after Rose.

Rose, however, had anticipated such a thing, and locked her door behind her. That did little to stop Sherlock, who merely ducked into his flat, retrieved the key, and let himself in.

“Get out of my flat Sherlock! Now!” Rose demanded.

The tears he saw trailing down her cheeks gave Sherlock pause.

“Out right now! I swear to god, you best leave right now or I’m not responsible for what I do to you!”

“Rose, I-” Sherlock’s words were cut off by a resounding slap across his face. He stood there in shock for a moment before rubbing his now reddened cheek.

“Get out,” Rose reiterated. “Or I’m going home.”

He frowned. “You _are_ home.”

“Home home. Get out Sherlock!” She pointed at the door as if he might be confused about where the exit was located.

“There was no reason to slap me Rosenwyn!” He paused and took a deep breath. “You’re menstruating right now. You’re always irrational and overly sensitive when you’re menstruating. That’s the only logical reason why you’re so upset and slapped me.”

Rose’s mouth dropped open. “You’ve _deduced_ when I menstruate? Oh my god, Sherlock! That’s… that’s really disturbing! There are just some things you shouldn’t deduce about your sister and that is most _definitely_ one of them. Do you seriously not understand why I’m so angry with you?”

“I think we should talk about this, without any further slapping,” he said firmly, using his ‘I’m your big brother and you better listen to me’ tone. That usually got Rose’s attention, but instead she turned and went into her bedroom without a word. He heard the click of the lock on the door.

Swiping angrily at her wet cheeks, Rose retrieved an overnight bag from her closet and began throwing clothing inside it. Pajamas, unmentionables, socks, another pair of pants and several tops disappeared inside the bag. She unlocked the door and opened it, allowing it to slam against the wall. Sherlock was still standing there in her sitting room and Rose breezed past him, slamming the door behind her as she left.

“Wait, wait, where are you going?” John asked, meeting her on the stairs.

“Home. Home home,” Rose said. “Otherwise I’m going to kill my brother. I’m less angry at you than I am at him, but I’m disappointed in you John. _Very_ disappointed. Now please move aside.”

John stepped to the side, allowing her to continue down the stairs and exit the building. The raw hurt on her face hit him like a punch in the gut. He proceeded up the stairs to find Sherlock still in Rose’s flat.

“She _hit_ me,” Sherlock said with a whine.

“I told you to leave it be,” John commented quietly. “She’s really hurt Sherlock.”

“She hit me John. Which part of that confused you?” Sherlock retorted, still rubbing his cheek.

“I don’t care Sherlock! This is exactly what she’d wanted to avoid, what she had enlisted my help to avoid. Instead, you drugged me and I told you everything and we made a mess out of her date. We _hurt_ her Sherlock. I care a lot more about that than I do the fact she smacked your face.”

\-------------------------------

It wasn’t until the taxi dropped her at home that she realized she didn’t know the code to get inside. Each time she’d been here since coming back to Britain Mycroft had been at home to let her in.

Rose sighed heavily and trudged up to the front steps to examine the alarm keypad. “Might as well try the old one, see if it still works,” she muttered. Carefully she punched in 1-2-2-0 and entered the code. Much to her surprise, the code was accepted and the alarm was disabled. Rose smiled and shook her head; Mycroft could be quite sentimental when he wanted to be, using her birth date as the code.

She put her key in the lock opened the door. Stepping inside, Rose closed and locked the door before setting the alarm again. The house was quiet and dark, meaning Mycroft wasn’t home, which wasn’t very important. Rose knew he wouldn’t object to having her stay a night or two.

After dropping her bag off in her old bedroom, Rose headed downstairs to the library and pulled out her mobile to text Mycroft.

‘I’m at your house.’

‘Why? M’

‘Sherlock and I had a row.’

‘He’ll probably call and whine because I smacked him.’

‘You smacked your elder brother? M’

‘I did. It’s a long story.’

‘And undoubtedly a very interesting one. M’     

‘How late will you be?’

‘I’ll be home in a few hours. M’

‘Ok. I’ll explain it all then.’

                                                                                                       


	22. Mycroft Knows Best (Sometimes)

 

‘Our sister hit me. SH’

‘So I’ve heard. Knowing you, it was well deserved. M’

‘Did she come home? SH’

‘She’s there and I will be joining her shortly. M’

‘She’s quite put out with me. SH’

‘I don’t think she’s ever been this angry with me. I don’t like it. SH’

‘I’ll see what I can do to sort it out. In the meantime, try practicing an apology. M’

‘I like it so much better when you’re the mean brother. SH’

Rolling his eyes, Mycroft decided not to respond.

\---------------------------------------------

Mycroft got home just after nine and was greeted by the smell of something absolutely delicious coming from the kitchen. It was unlike his cook to be making anything this time of night. Usually he wound up with leftovers of what had been made earlier. That was what he got for being a workaholic, he supposed. Not that he had all that much choice in the matter.

But it was not Cook in the kitchen, much to his surprise. It was Rose, who’d already set the table and appeared to be putting the final touches on their meal. “Sherlock wasn’t exaggerating,” he murmured. “That’s a first.”

Rose gave him a smile. “I gave Cook the night off. Hope that’s alright. I figured as long as you were fed it wasn’t a big deal.”

“Where did you learn to cook? You were hardly able to make tea not all that long ago.”

She frowned this time. “That’s a bit of an exaggeration, My. I learned while I was away. Started as a server and moved into the kitchen when they needed extra hands and then was cooking regularly. I found I really enjoyed it. It’s sort of relaxing and there’s a good reward at the end.”

Mycroft chuckled. “And where was this at?”

“Luxembourg mostly. I stayed there the longest, I didn’t think anyone would bother looking for me there,” Rose admitted. “But I worked in a restaurant in Geneva as well. I was there for a few months. Switzerland’s a lovely place.”

“It is,” Mycroft agreed. “And I was there once, while you were away. You have no idea how happy I would have been to find you in a kitchen then.”

“And taken me straight home before I was ready to come back on my own,” Rose said. “We needed space, you and I. A lot of it, and the break was helpful in… reexamining things, shall we say. I came to discover a lot of things about myself and my family and what I wanted in life.”

“What made you come back then?” He hadn’t asked her before, and in fact hadn’t asked her much at all about her time adventuring, mostly because Mycroft was afraid to hear her confirm that he had been the one to drive her away.

“I was lonely. I got lonely every so often,” she admitted, placing dishes on the table. “But when I started getting lonely on a regular basis and it wouldn’t go away, I knew it was time. For all my complaining, and the disappearing act, I never stopped loving you both. I hope you know that.”

Mycroft nodded, confirming he did. “I’m certain I aged ten years while you were away. I looked everywhere for you, desperately. I felt so… frightened and guilty. I knew I was the one that had driven you away. Mother would have been so disappointed, that our family had come apart like that. She was always very family oriented and sentimental about all of us loving one another properly.”

Rose sat in a chair and indicated he should do the same. She was surprised to hear him speak of their mother, because he so very rarely did. Of all of them, Rose knew their mother’s death had hit Mycroft hardest of all, leaving him with an erratic brother to keep track of and a little girl to finish bringing up all on his own. Keeping those feelings compartmentalized had been his way of dealing with her passing; and life in general for that matter.

“Can I ask you something?”

He nodded, and sat down, gesturing that she should dish her plate up first.

“Would she be proud of me, do you think? I’d like to think she would be, but I honestly don’t know. Every year that goes by… more of her fades. I can’t remember what her voice sounded like anymore, or the way her favorite perfume smelled.”

Rose watched as something flickered across Mycroft’s face, too quickly for her to get a handle on what it was. He took a deep breath before answering.

“I very much believe she would be. You’re so very like her, you know. I see it so often in many little things you do,” Mycroft admitted. “I believe she would be very proud of you. You’re a good person and that’s what she wanted for us most of all, to be good people, and to love one another. And on that score, I know you far surpass Sherlock and myself.”

“You’re not as icy as you make yourself out to be. Anyone who really knows you can see that. I’ve never _not_ felt loved, even before I went away. I felt smothered in addition to being loved, but I’ve always felt loved and safe, My. I think that would make Mum very happy to know,” Rose said quietly.

He reached for her hand and squeezed it gently. “You sound so grown up when you say things like that. Please stop, it makes me feel incredibly old.”

Rose giggled. “Sort of inevitable, My. Sorry.”

“So what happened today with Sherlock? It must have been something significant for you to come back here.”

“Well where else would I go?” Rose laughed.

“Louise’s, for one.”

She rolled her eyes. “He’s _our_ brother. I need you to help me sort him out. It was really bad, honestly. Bobby Sanders all over again, except the fist was substituted with a pot of hot coffee. It was one date, not even a really official one, just a get to know you thing. He held my hand and then Sherlock went off the deep end. Then I lost my temper, we fought, I slapped his face, he made inappropriate comments, and I left.”

It pleased Mycroft to no end that she came home after having it out with Sherlock, but he did his best not to seem too excited by that fact. “He’s always been terribly protective of you,” he admitted. “Rather unreasonably so at times. Though not at first. Sherlock had the most horrible habit of letting you out when you were a toddler, assuming that just because you were smart that you knew everything and didn’t need to be watched.”

Rose frowned. “Let me out? Like you let a dog out?”

Mycroft nodded. “I’d ask where you were and he’d say, “Oh, I let her outside to play.” And you were just two. He was rather slow in coming to understand that was a very poor choice, though Mother did try to make it clear to him. I’d finally had it after the third time and drug him into my study for a hiding. Never happened again after that.”

She laughed long and hard. “Poor Sherlock! Although not really, everyone should know you don’t put a baby outside, no matter how smart they are!”

“He was convinced from the moment that you were born that you were the most brilliant child the world had ever seen. He came running into my study one day telling me you knew how to read; you were six months old. Mother found it absolutely endearing, although not the putting you outside part.”

“I know he’s worried about me,” Rose admitted. “Especially after all the recent happenings, but he has to understand that he can’t just put up a wall around me and keep every man on the planet from coming near me. Someday I’d like to meet a really nice fellow, get married and have babies.”

Mycroft choked on the pasta he’d been attempting to chew, resorting to water to force it down, looking as if he might become ill. “Do _not_ say things like that.”

“Like what?”

“You… and babies. Please don’t ever say that to me again,” Mycroft pleaded in earnest.

“You’re ridiculous, but I’ll try to refrain from traumatizing you. You’d make a very good uncle though,” Rose offered. When he gave her a dark look in response, she put up her hands in surrender. “Okay, I won’t say a word on the matter for a while. Though, since we’re on the topic, why don’t you have someone? A wife and little ones.”

“You honestly think I wanted children after raising you and Sherlock? God no!”

“Well you don’t have to be so emphatic about it,” Rose scowled. “That’s rather insulting. I’d like to think I wasn’t _that_ bad.”

“Sherlock was much worse,” he admitted. “And significantly less sweet than you.”

“My, how are we going to fix this?” she asked, turning the conversation back to the matter at hand. “I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t want Sherlock to injure or maim every person of the male sex that I come into contact with. That’s never going to work. At least you sort of discretely keep an eye on things.”

“No matter how old you are Rose, you will never understand the way a brother feels about his little sister. Sherlock, despite his idiocy, has your best interests at heart. The last thing he wants is for your heart to be broken by someone. This is his way of preventing it,” Mycroft tried to explain.

“I’ll speak with him about it, see if we can’t come to some sort of agreement of appropriate ways to protect you,” he offered. “I truly don’t think he desires you to be a spinster, but I don’t think he sees that correlation between him frightening away boys and you being completely alone in your old age.”

Rose nodded, acknowledging that Mycroft’s thoughts made sense. “Being married to my work isn’t something I want to do. It might work just fine for you and Sherlock, but it wouldn’t work for me. I want to be a professional dancer for as long as I’m able, don’t get me wrong on that score,” she hurriedly added. “However, there’s more to life than work for me. I want all the rest of it, too and I’m determined to have it both ways.”

“God help anyone that stands in your way when you’re determined,” Mycroft teased.

She rolled her eyes but otherwise didn’t respond. “Don’t forget to tell Sherlock when you speak with him that if _I’m_ not allowed to have tantrums, neither is he! Because that was one seriously epic stroppy tantrum.”

“And you’d know, wouldn’t you?” The look on her face gave Mycroft a good laugh.

\---------------------------------------

‘Well done Sherlock. You’ll turn her into a spinster yet. M’

‘That is not my intention. SH’

‘Isn’t it? I beg to differ. M’

‘Besides, I’m the one that overreacts, as you so often remind me. M’

Several minutes passed without a response and Mycroft rolled his eyes before sending another text. ‘My club, noon tomorrow. M’

‘Fine. SH’

Mycroft looked up when there was a knock on the door of his study. “Come in.”

Rose opened the door far enough to peek inside the room. “Is it alright if I read in here? I won’t disturb you if you’re working, I promise. And we could have some after dinner wine or something. Your cellar is rather impressive. I was going to pop a bottle open earlier but I really don’t know anything about wine to be honest.”

Mycroft frowned; for some reason the idea of his baby sister drinking liquor was upsetting. “Should I go take inventory?”

“No,” she told him, rolling her eyes. “Or no wine, or whatever response will make you stop frowning.”

He waved her into the room. “You can read in here if you wish, though I may have to send you out if I need to make a call. How long are you staying, by the way?”

“Until you become completely obnoxious and Sherlock is the lesser of two evils,” she replied, giving him a grin. Rose left the door open and crossed the room to curl up on the couch.

“Or in other words I shouldn’t take this as a sign you’d like to move back home?” Mycroft inquired.

“Brother dear, you are absolutely relentless. Will you never stop trying to talk me into moving back here?”

He shook his head. “No. I don’t worry as much about you if you’re here when I can see you.”

Rose snorted. “That’s a rather absurd statement My. You are the government; you can actually see me just about anywhere at all on CCTV whenever you feel like it. I also wouldn’t be surprised if there are cameras in my bloody flat.”

“Language,” Mycroft scolded.

“Hmm. No comment on the camera accusation. Clearly I’ll need to search my flat when I decide to wander back to Baker Street,” Rose mused.

“Minding you is a full time occupation, my dear. I’ve said that since the very day you were born,” Mycroft replied. “What I really need to do is hire someone to watch you on CCTV every minute of the day.”

“That’s not funny,” Rose said firmly, scowling at him. “Not funny at all. I’d like to still pretend I have a little bit of privacy.”

“Everyone wants to pretend they still have a little bit of privacy,” he countered. “And that’s just what it is: pretend.”

Rose stuck her tongue out at him and flopped back onto the sofa before opening her book.

“You’re never going to outgrow that, are you?”

“Not until you cease to be utterly annoying in every possible way, brother mine.”

Mycroft frowned a bit. “What did you select to read?”

“One of my favorites, Jules Verne,” Rose replied as she opened the book.

“That better not be my first edition of _Around the World in 80 Days_ or I will skin you alive, Rosenwyn Holmes,” Mycroft warned in all sincerity.

“Books in the glass case are not to be touched or played with at any time for any reason whatsoever,” she said, doing her best to mimic him. “That was a particularly memorable lesson Mycroft, I must say, all teasing aside.”

“Hmph. Well I would certainly hope so! After all, that was rather the point.”

“It was really all your fault though. You should have been smarter and kept it locked,” she challenged.

“As if Sherlock wouldn’t have picked it for you anyway,” he retorted. “Now be quiet and let me work, you disrespectful little brat.”

“Mmhm, love you too, brother dear,” Rose responded. When he groaned, she gave him a look of feigned innocence before burying her nose in the book.

\---------------------------

Oh how Sherlock hated it when Mycroft looked so smug! And today he looked especially smug when Sherlock was shown into Mycroft’s office at the Diogenes Club.

“Let’s make this short, shall we?” Mycroft asked, indicating that Sherlock should sit down.

“If you’ve summoned me here to gloat because I’m now the mean brother, I’d prefer to just leave,” Sherlock stated in a defensive tone.

“I am only going to say this once, brother mine, so do listen closely and carefully,” Mycroft warned. “Learn from my mistakes, Sherlock. Yes, I did just admit that and I’ll never do so again. Your behavior yesterday is reminiscent of my own, though admittedly I never scalded anyone. But I tried too hard to protect her, and to control her, because I felt she was incapable of making appropriate choices for herself. I drove her away, Sherlock. I know I did, and I understand that now. If you ask her, she’ll confirm it, albeit reluctantly. For some reason she feels compelled to not put it so bluntly and spare my feelings, but she has expressed as much.”

Sherlock was, to put it mildly, shocked at Mycroft’s words. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d heard Mycroft admit he’d made a mistake. Additionally, he’d never heard his oldest brother acknowledge that he was responsible for creating the circumstances that made Rose want to disappear.

“As you so love to point out,” Mycroft continued. “She’s not like us. We’re… well if not content, we’re at least resigned to the fact that we’re married to our work. Rose really is, by far, the most normal of the three of us. She wants normal things: a home, a family, a life with all sorts of emotional entanglements and curly haired children to bring up.”

“That… I can’t begin to think on that. The baby having babies.” Sherlock shuddered a bit.

“Trust me, I understand the horror of that thought very well,” Mycroft commiserated. “For you and I, she’s still the little girl who was afraid of monsters under the bed, wanted to be rocked when her ear ached, and begged for just one more story every night.”

Sherlock nodded. “In this respect, with her, we’re very normal Mycroft. We’ll never stop seeing her that way. But, she isn’t anymore.”

“She isn’t,” Mycroft agreed. “She still requires guidance and a firm hand when the occasion calls for it, but we will only make her unhappy if we try to keep her that little girl, or, in your case, try to make her a spinster.”

“God how I hate it when you’re right. Ruins my entire day,” Sherlock grumbled, looking particularly sulky. “I will always intervene if she’s in danger. However, I will endeavor to restrain myself from shielding her from the world.”

Mycroft paused, his glass of brandy halfway to his mouth. “Did we really just agree on something?” he asked. “That never happens.”

“Shakes one’s world, I know,” Sherlock agreed. “Mother would be proud.”

“Do you know what Mother would really say?”

A quirked eyebrow was Sherlock’s only response.

“She’d ask us if we were looking for Rose to convert to Catholicism and enter a nunnery. And if the answer was no, we’d best let her get on with life,” Mycroft said with a sad smile. “Even if that was our goal, Rose would make a horrible nun. She’s far too rebellious and opinionated.”

Sherlock frowned for several seconds before laughing. “You know, I think you’re right. That’s precisely what Mother would have said. She could be really wise sometimes. And I agree, Rose would make a horrible nun,” he said with a chuckle.

“God only knows, given how wise she could be, what Mother was thinking asking us to look after Rose before she died,” Mycroft countered. “We’re rubbish at it.”

“She turned out alright. More than alright, in fact, considering she had us for co-parents for most of her life,” Sherlock snorted.

The corners of Mycroft’s mouth turned up just a bit. “She did,” he agreed. “The only question is: was that because of us or in spite of us?”

“Let’s not think on that too hard,” Sherlock decided.

“Quite right,” Mycroft said with a nod. “Well, I’m done with you, so please vacate my club, brother mine.”

\-------------------------------

Louise was more than a little surprised when John appeared at the dance studio. “You, Dr. Watson, are a very brave man indeed.”

“Yeah, bravery is one word for it,” he admitted with a grimace. “Stupidity might also apply. Is she really still that angry?”

“At Sherlock, definitely,” Louise confirmed. “At you, not as much. I see you’ve brought a peace offering though, so that should help your cause a bit. She’s still working with Alfred but I think they’re nearly done. Or they really should be. Rose works herself so hard; too hard.”

John could tell Louise was worried and immediately became concerned. “Please tell me she’s been eating and drinking properly.”

“She has, but they’ve also been dancing almost non-stop for a bit over seven hours,” she explained. “Trying to make up for time lost during her recovery I imagine. Or just Rose being Rose. She’s like Mycroft in that way- a perfectionist.”

John smiled. “The two of you go way back, don’t you?”

“Since we were three. Started here together in classes, ended up at the same schools, though Rose jumped ahead of me a few years, twice I think, but we stayed close,” Louise explained. “Been through thick and thin! I still call Mycroft “Mr. Holmes” to his face, because otherwise it’s awkward,” she laughed.

“That is a really awkward point in life, where you’re an adult and suddenly people you were told to call Mr. and Mrs. say “Oh no, it’s Sally now!” Takes ages to actually get around to calling a person Sally, or Mycroft in your case,” John replied.

“Precisely! Smart man you are. Take good care of her, will you? She listens to you; don’t let her work herself half to death. I just get a smile and a hug for my troubles.”

“I don’t know how well she listens to me to be perfectly honest,” John admitted. “But I keep saying it all the same. She’s a stubborn thing. Lovely girl, no doubt about that, but she’s as stubborn as the day is long. She’s more like her brothers than they are willing to admit.”

Louise gave him a knowing smile, as if she knew something he didn’t, but he didn’t press her to find out what that might be.

Just then one of the studio doors opened and Rose came around the corner. “Why are you—Ooh, are those cupcakes?!” she squealed. “I want so very much to be displeased with you John, but I can’t be if those are actually cupcakes in that box.”

Louise snorted. “You and your cupcakes! They’d be your main food group if you could get away with it!”

“Don’t think they aren’t either, and don’t frown at me, John Watson,” Rose warned. “You aren’t forgiven yet, cupcakes aside. And don’t think for even a second I’m sharing those with you, or having another cupcake war. Mine, mine, mine.”

“She’s mean when you interfere with her cupcakes,” Louise warned with a giggle. “Hand one over.”

“What makes you think _you_ get one?” Rose retorted, holding the box possessively.

Louise snorted. “Gee, I don’t know, I’ve just put up with you for nearly seventeen bloody years. Nothing much.”

Rose stuck her tongue out at her, but allowed Louise to have one of the cupcakes. “Alright, so I’ve got cupcakes, what else do you have? This is an excellent peace offering.”

John just smiled patiently, happy to see Rose having fun. “An apology, but I’d like to discuss it elsewhere,” he admitted. “You missed out on a dinner last night, but if you let me I’ll take you out for one now.”

“If she says no, I’ll go!” Louise volunteered. “Me, me, me! I never get dinner out!”

“Lies, don’t listen to her,” Rose instructed. “My dinner, you get your own.” She winked at Louise before practically shoving John out the door. “I agree to your plan, provided we go back home so I can shower and change. Meaning home home, not Baker Street.”

“How long are you staying with Mycroft?” John asked as he hailed a cab.

“Not too long or My will really think I mean to stay and that would not go well. Seriously, I love my brother so much more when I don’t live with him. If he was honest with himself, Mycroft would realize he’s happy to let Sherlock be the mean brother,” Rose admitted.

\-----------------------------------------------

An hour later Rose was showered, dressed, and they were waiting for food at a café near Mycroft’s house. “So he drugged you? Seriously?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

“He did. I should have known something funny was going on when he offered me tea,” John admitted, feeling a bit embarrassed about the whole thing.

“He’s an idiot,” Rose decided, rolling her eyes. “He did that with Mycroft a few times and then Mycroft pulled Sherlock into his office- well, dragged him really, and then Sherlock never did that again. You should ask Mycroft what he did and do the same,” she suggested.

John chuckled. “We’ll sort it out. Probably not the first time, probably not the last either. That’s just the adventure of being flat mates with Sherlock Holmes.”

Rose’s phone chirped and she looked at the text. “Speak of the devil. He’s been sending me really weird texts the last few hours.”

John took the phone when she offered it to take a look. “I’m sorry and I don’t want you to enter a nunnery,” he read. “That _is_ strange, even for Sherlock.”

“I suppose I’ll have to actually respond sometime, but I’m still mad,” Rose admitted. “He can’t do that sort of thing or I’ll end up a crazy old cat lady with rooms and rooms full of books and be all alone, just me, the cats and the books.”

“You know it’s because he loves you right?”

Rose nodded. “I do. So what was your excuse?”

“I was hoping to keep him from doing anything drastic. Failed, obviously, but that was why I was in there. I thought if I was watching and looking very disapproving about the whole thing, that he might be discouraged.”

“Well that was silly,” she giggled. “Oh well, clearly Owen wasn’t the one. Whoever I marry some day, provided Sherlock doesn’t ruin every date I ever have, will have to love my insane brother, too. Or love me enough to put up with my insane brother.”

Their food arrived and for a few moments there was silence as they ate. Rose finally broke it by asking, “Are you coming to my competition next Monday? A week from this Monday I mean. It’ll be practically all day, but I’d love for you to be there. Sherlock said he’ll come and Mycroft I’m hoping will come but who knows?”

“Of course! I took that day off from surgery weeks ago,” John told her with a smile. “Wouldn’t miss it. Are you excited? Nervous?”

“Both. More nervous though,” she admitted quietly. “What if we don’t do well? Mycroft will never let me hear the end of it. This can either go brilliantly or be a complete disaster.”

“Give yourself a bit more credit than that. Even if you don’t make first place, that’s not the end of the world. Placing at all is a great way to start out your career and you’re a bloody fantastic dancer,” John said firmly. “You’ll place and it won’t be down in the lower ends either and everyone will be buzzing about wondering who this new dancing star is.”

Rose rewarded his encouraging words with a smile and a blush.

“I really am sorry for everything that happened yesterday,” John continued. “I wasn’t entirely certain what to do: run in there and break up your date myself by alerting you that your brother was on the war path, wait and see what happened, or try and discreetly disapprove enough that Sherlock stopped to think on it.”

“None of them would have been great honestly,” Rose admitted. “But I forgive you. I put you in a bad spot and Sherlock put you in another one. Things were bound to go badly; I should have just been honest with him. Anyway, you’re more than forgiven. Who can refuse to forgive a man who brings cupcakes to say sorry? Not this girl, I can tell you that.” She gave him a grin.

“What are you going to do about Sherlock? That was a nasty row.”

She nodded her agreement. “It was. Mycroft is going to try and sort him out, which I hope will work, but I won’t get my hopes up. I’m certain I’ll be back at Baker Street soon. Miss me yet?”

John chuckled and nodded. “I do, the flat is too quiet without you around and we were really hungry last night. Had to get takeaway and it was _awful_ ,” he teased.

“I see, you miss my food and not me,” Rose laughed. “We’re crazy, the lot of us, you know that? You, Sherlock and I. Wouldn’t trade it for the world though, even if you do just keep me around for my cooking!”

\----------------------------------------

Rose returned to Mycroft’s after finishing her dinner with John around half past nine that evening. She could hear Mycroft in his office shouting at someone. He was shouting in English but as soon as she came in he immediately began shouting in another language. Czech? Slovene? Slovak?

She paused long enough to catch a bit and decided it was Czech before going directly upstairs. People who didn’t want to sign agreements weren’t her domain after all and Mycroft would hardly thank her for eavesdropping! Besides, Rose had been dying to take a bubble bath in that beautiful claw foot tub! She entered her old room, hoping to find a bathrobe she’d left behind, but when she flipped on the light, she let out a scream.

There was Sherlock, sitting on her bed.

“Sherlock, my god! You scared me, that’s not funny!” Rose shouted at him.

“You’ve been ignoring me.” It was said with that distinct sort of half pout half sulk tone that Sherlock had been perfecting for as long as she could remember.

She took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah, I have been, mostly because I’ve been confused as _hell_ at all these texts. You’re sorry and don’t want me to be a nun? I don’t have a clue what you’re on about so I wasn’t going to get into it with you. When you started making sense, then I would have responded.”

He nodded and- could it be? - almost looked sheepish. “I’m sorry,” Sherlock said quietly. “For overreacting and ruining your date. Despite all appearances to the contrary, I don’t want you to be alone if that’s not what you want for yourself.”

Rose wanted to continue being angry with him, but she knew sincerity when she heard it, and a heartfelt apology when she heard one as well. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”

Sherlock scowled. “I just want you to be with someone who deserves you, Rose, and not waste your time people that aren’t worthy of it to begin with. However, I can’t interfere and chase away everyone, and you have _no_ idea how difficult that will be for me. Especially after… recently.”

Though he’d never spoken of it, the fact that he hadn’t deduced Rose was in danger and been able to protect her weighed heavily on his mind. Despite his best efforts, Sherlock had not been able to delete the images of her on the pavement, terrified and covered in blood, while he’d been completely helpless, arriving too late. _Too. Late._

“Oh Sherlock. Sherlock, _no_. You can’t think like that,” Rose said firmly. She quickly crossed the room and sat down beside him. “I made that mess all by myself and did my very best to keep it hidden until after you solved those murders. I didn’t want you fussing over me and taking your attention from that case. You had nothing to do with my secrecy, or my being attacked, and I prevented you from protecting me. You didn’t fail me, I failed me.”

“Now I see why it both annoys and astonishes people so much when I do that,” he grumbled. “How can you possibly read me that well?”

“No, most definitely not an open book and not easy to read, even for me,” Rose admitted. “But I’m me, and if there’s anyone in the world you let your guard down with, and let yourself feel, it’s me. And thank god for that.”

His eyebrow quirked, silently questioning her last statement.

“If you hadn’t, you and Mycroft both, I’d be just as dysfunctional as the two of you are; heaven knows this world can’t handle any more Holmeses like you and Mycroft,” Rose told him.

Sherlock chuckled and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. “I think we lucked out with you, Mycroft and I. You’re a good one,” he whispered.

She blushed a bit, but gave him a smile. “Thanks. You’re still my very favorite Sherlock in the whole wide world, you know that?”

“And you’re my very favorite brat in the whole wide world,” he assured her, kissing the top of her head. “Think you’ll forgive me someday?”

“Not someday,” Rose assured him. “Today. I forgive you today. But we’ve got to have rules about this whole thing. For starters, I won’t keep information about potential dates from you. That way poor John won’t get drugged again. That was a bit not good Sherlock!”

He shrugged. “He missed a whole Wednesday once and doesn’t even know it.”

“Didn’t you learn your lesson after you did that to Mycroft a few times? I seem to remember an awful lot of howling coming from his office the last time you did that,” Rose pointed out. It delighted her to no end when he blushed.

“So that’s a rule too, no more of that,” Rose said firmly. “And you will be reasonable. I won’t be able to find the right man if you don’t let me try out several of them. I’ll be safe and honest and allow Mycroft to run their names if that will make you feel better. In return, you’ll give me the space I need and let me fall in and out of love however many times it takes.”

Sherlock sighed heavily. “That’s a terrible plan. How am I supposed to protect you from heartache if you insist on looking for it?”

“You can’t. There is something you can do though, that would mean the world to me.”

“Which is?”

“Be here to help me pick up the pieces when love goes wrong,” she whispered. “That’s all you need to do, big brother. Think you can manage that?”

“I’ll always be here for that,” he promised. “Never doubt that Rose.” Sherlock hugged her tightly, smiling when she simply scooted over and moved onto his lap. “Your height has its advantages.”

“Does it now?” she asked, looking up at him.

“If you were taller, this would be very awkward,” he pointed out.

“This is disgusting,” a familiar voice stated, interrupting Rose’s laughter. “All this sentimental nonsense just _oozing_ out of the both of you. The trials and tribulations of my life are never ending.”

“Poor, poor Mycroft,” Rose responded, her snicker ruining her attempt to be sympathetic. “We just make your life so awful!”

“You do, don’t attempt to convince yourselves otherwise. Nothing but trouble since the day you were born, the both of you.”

Sherlock snorted. “It amuses me to no end that he acts as if he were the perfect child and we were these monsters that plagued his life. I happen to remember him getting into plenty of trouble all on his own, so don’t let that nonsense fool you for a minute,” he told Rose. “Mycroft has always had a flair for the dramatic.”

The eldest Holmes rolled his eyes. “Family gatherings are just _so_ lovely,” he muttered.

“They are, just wait until Christmas! And my birthday just before that,” Rose said grinning. “Loads of quality family time, albeit sprinkled with sarcasm and threats.”

“Sounds about right,” Sherlock nodded.

“Oh no, we are _not_ doing Christmas. Absolutely not. You aren’t little anymore; I don’t have to keep up this charade any longer. You know I hate Christmas,” Mycroft told her with a scowl.

“How unfortunate for you. We’re going to have it and if you say no I’ll have the most epic strop in the history of the world and make your life a living nightmare,” Rose threatened, trying desperately to keep a stern façade as she did so.

Mycroft frowned. “So you’ll misbehave like you do every day of every year? Sounds absolutely charming let me clear my calendar and write ‘Rose’s Christmas Tantrum’ on it. The highlight of my year to be sure.”

A pillow was promptly thrown at him and all Mycroft could do was shake his head. They never changed, either of his siblings, and though he’d never admit it out loud, he rather hoped they never did.


	23. Shall We Dance?

Late shifts at surgery were really the worst and John avoided them as much as he was able to do so. Sadly, everyone had to take those shifts on a rotating schedule, barring emergencies. Unfortunately a case hadn’t come up and John had been forced to go in. Late shifts always brought in the worst of things to doctor: odd injuries with equally odd, and generally awkward, stories about how they happened; screaming babies with raging fevers; loads of vomiting; and objects in places they had absolutely no business being. It was a relief to come home to Baker Street at the end of such a shift to get a shower, tuck in to a hot meal- especially if Rose had been cooking- and get a good night’s rest.

This relief, however, was to be denied him as John realized as soon as he walked in the door. John heard noises coming from the bathroom, two voices, and what sounded like crying and/or… no, definitely also vomiting. Knowing it had to be either Rose or Sherlock in there, he took a deep breath and resumed his role as doctor.

“Everything all right in there?” John asked, knocking on the door. “Sounds like someone’s sick. The doctor is in. Can I help?”

The door cracked open a bit, revealing a surprisingly anxious looking Sherlock. “Panic attack. It’s bad,” he admitted. “She’s made herself quite sick.”

Rose, having a panic attack? It had to be in relation to her dance competition the following morning, but that really surprised John. She always seemed so confidant when she danced, making it look so effortless and completely natural.

“What can I do to help?” John asked. “Have you tried to get her to slow down her breathing and stop crying?”

His flatmate sighed heavily. “I’ll worry about that when she stops throwing up. One problem at a time John. I’ll coax her out when I can.”

“I’ll get something to settle her stomach. It’ll be ready when she is.” John closed the door, certain Rose didn’t want an audience, and headed for the kitchen.

Sherlock immediately turned his attention back to Rose, kneeling beside her as she continued to sick up into the toilet. He rubbed her back gently, making certain he kept her hair away from her face. “There’s really no reason for all this,” he murmured. “You’re a brilliant dancer and you know it. You always have been. Tomorrow will be your first step into the professional world and you’re going to take it by storm. Of that I have no doubt.”

“But Mycroft--” Rose started to respond.

“- -Will not be a problem. For all his grumbling about your chosen profession, he truly wants you to be happy and to be good at what you do,” Sherlock told her firmly. “Don’t allow yourself to think otherwise and don’t allow your anxiety to manifest itself so violently. Why didn’t you tell me about this earlier today?”

She blushed just a bit, bringing some color to her otherwise ghostly white face. “I was embarrassed.”

“That’s nonsense. I can’t help if I’m unaware there is a problem. Maybe things wouldn’t have gotten this far had you not waited so long to come over here and promptly fall apart.” He kept his tone gentle, not wanting to scold her too much and upset her further.

“I think I’m done,” she murmured. “Help me up, will you? My legs have gone to sleep.”

“You’ve completely exhausted yourself, haven’t you?” Sherlock helped her up, steadying her while she rinsed her mouth out and proceeded to carry her into the sitting room.

“I should go home,” she protested a little as he settled her on the couch.

“Don’t be an idiot. You’ll stay here until I’m certain you’re finished panicking for the night,” Sherlock replied firmly.

“What he said,” John added, appearing at the couch. “Doctor’s orders. Think you can manage some tea? It’s peppermint and will help with the nausea.” He looked down at her, his face etched with concern. “You’re so pale, love. How long were you all on your own upset? You’re exhausted.”

She sighed quietly. “Couple hours I suppose. Kept building and getting worse and then I finally came over and had a panic attack.”

John leaned down and kissed her forehead before getting the tea from the kitchen. “Drink slowly. Little sips, alright? Feel dizzy at all? Trouble breathing?”

“No; at least not anymore.” Rose accepted the mug of tea and began taking careful sips of it, praying the nausea was gone for good. She closed her eyes as she drank, trying to make both her mind and body full relax.

John sat at the other end of the couch to keep a good eye on her, letting Rose rest her feet in his lap. “That’s it love, nice and calm. I can almost feel the tension draining out of you. When you’re feeling more the thing, I’m getting you some food. Something that won’t upset your stomach further.”

While John settled on the couch, Sherlock sat on the floor at her side. Almost without realizing he was doing so, Sherlock began gently rubbing her stomach, eyes fixed on Rose despite her own eyes being closed.

The doctor was completely convinced it was the sweetest thing he’d ever seen. Sherlock was almost an entirely different person with Rose and for some reason it continued to surprise him each and every time John saw those little elements of Sherlock that he’d never let anyone else see.

“What are you doing?” Rose murmured, opening her eyes.

Sherlock paused and looked over at his hand before quickly removing it. A hint of pink crept up his cheeks.

“Were you seriously just rubbing my tummy?” she asked, giving him a curious look.

“Yes. Not good?” Sherlock inquired.

Rose gave him a little smile. “ _Very_ good. I was just surprised is all; go on.”

“You’re twenty in a few weeks,” he pointed out. “Too old I think.”

“Didn’t stop you a minute ago,” John chuckled.

“I can’t believe you remembered. Ok, I’m not really that surprised you remembered,” Rose admitted in response to Sherlock’s glare. “Mind palace, I know. But it surprised me that you did it.”

“What was it you remembered?” John asked, looking at his flatmate.

“A night a very long time ago, when a very sad and frightened little girl wondered who would rub her tummy when she was sick now that she was an orphan,” Sherlock murmured.

John was certain his heart broke just a tiny bit at Sherlock’s admission. He could only imagine how frightened Rose must have been after Mrs. Holmes had passed, even if she still had Mycroft and Sherlock to care for her.

“Without missing a beat Sherlock stated that he was plenty capable of rubbing tummies when the occasion called for it,” Rose added. “In the most serious of tones, no less, as if it was a matter of very great importance.”

“Sherlock, that’s… well it’s adorable, frankly,” John decided, smiling at the other man. “I’m picturing this in my mind’s eye right now.”

“Oh _do_ shut up John! Keep your sentimental musings to yourself,” Sherlock snapped.

“Oh dear, you’re embarrassed,” Rose teased.

Sherlock scowled at her. “You can shut up as well! See if I ever do _that_ again! Certainly not if I’m going to have words like “adorable” thrown in my face. The level of sentiment in this room right now is appalling.”

“You brought it up,” Rose pointed out, laughing softly. When she finished laughing she leaned closer to Sherlock and whispered, “I love you; you’re very wonderful.”

He leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “I love you, too,” Sherlock whispered so softly she almost missed it. Despite his protests, his hand returned to her stomach, gently rubbing away the aching soreness.

“Relax, relax,” he murmured.

“John, make yourself useful and rub my feet,” Rose commented. “After you get me more tea.”

“Listen to her, will you?” John laughed. “If I didn’t see the smile on your face, I’d be really affronted at your attitude,” he teased her. “Silly girl. Did the tea help?”

“I think it is actually. It’s very good. I like tea tea when I drink tea, not this sort of thing generally. Lady Grey,” she commented. “Or chai.”

“Peppermint does wonders for nausea. I always keep a bit of peppermint tea around for just such an occasion. Are you ready for some more? How about food?”

Rose gave him a smile. “More tea would be great. You both are very sweet. I’m quite a lucky girl I think.”

\----------------------------------

The following morning Rose got up with the sun and had far too much to do to have time to panic any further. Sherlock was quite relieved by that, and watched with great amusement as John tried to get her to have breakfast.

“I don’t have time for breakfast John! I’ve got to make sure all my outfits are ready and shower and call Alfred and--”

“And _nothing_ ,” John said sternly. “I’ve looked at the program you brought home and things won’t break for lunch until 1pm. That’s ages from now and you’ll never make it if you don’t start the day with a good breakfast. Do you want to be sick, today of all days?”

Rose rolled her eyes. “I’ve packed snacks, I’ll eat throughout the day to keep my energy up just like you’ve been telling me to do for some time now. Isn’t that enough? I don’t have time to sit down and have a lovely breakfast. Coffee will just have to do.”

“If you feel like passing out during your first set, then yeah, that’ll do just fine,” John retorted sarcastically. “This really isn’t an option, in case you weren’t aware. You _will_ sit, and you _will_ eat. Put your bum in that chair and tuck in. Do it now!”

“John, good lord, you’re so dramatic,” Rose sighed. She turned to look at Sherlock, hoping to find an ally.

“Oh do sit down already Rosenwyn,” Sherlock said, letting out a sigh of annoyance. “Just do as the man says or he’ll be completely insufferable all day. Not to mention the fact that he’s right, you do need to eat.”

She let out a noise of frustration. “Oh, you’re one to talk about eating!”

Sherlock gave her a huge but smug grin. “But we’re not talking about me, are we, sister? No, we’re talking about _you_.”

“Uh, hello! I’m still waiting for you to sit your bum on that chair,” John stated firmly, interrupting the bickering siblings.

“Be a graceful loser, Rose, and sit down,” Sherlock told her, raising an eyebrow.

She sat with a huff and scowl, but her scowl diminished just a bit when John leaned over and kissed the top of her head.

“Aside from having breakfast, are you nearly ready? Mycroft is sending a car in an hour,” Sherlock reminded her.

“Shut up Sherlock, I can’t eat and talk and John’s going to be all sorts of cross if I don’t eat and Mycroft will be scandalized if I get in the car in my dressing gown,” Rose stated. She shoved a bite of food in her mouth and gave her brother a proper scowl.

“You shouldn’t do that you know,” Sherlock replied.

“Do what?”

“Scowl. You’re a bit adorable when you scrunch your face up like that. Defeats the purpose a bit… _Ow_!” Sherlock glared at her, reaching under the table to rub his shin as Rose gave him a satisfied smirk.

“You two are impossible, you know that?” John asked amid laughter.

“We try. It suits us. It’s the Holmesian way of saying I love you.”

“Kicking your brother is a silent I love you?” John questioned. “Really?”

Sherlock nodded to confirm Rose’s statement.

“Well in any case, eat up, the _both_ of you.” The look of sheer outrage on Sherlock’s face at being ordered to eat sent John into full blown belly laughs.

\------------------------------------------

The venue was pure chaos behind the scenes. Dancers running around the dressing room in all sorts of states of undress, buzzing around getting their hair fixed and make-up done, and Rose had never felt more alive in her whole life.

“Are you ready?” Alfred asked, taking her hand. “Feeling alright? Ready to take the prize home?”

“Yes,” Rose said, looking up at him with a smile. “This feels so perfect, like I’m almost at home in a way. I never thought I’d be here and it would feel this good.”

“I feel the same,” he admitted. “I’m glad we’re here together and that you pulled through and are alright. A true survivor, you are. A brave girl.”

She hugged him tightly. “You can’t even see the little scars on my arms,” Rose whispered. “John thinks they’ll go away in time, but I wanted to be sure to cover them up a bit so all the attention is on our feet and nothing else.”

“They did a nice job on the costumes, you’re right,” Alfred said with a smile. “I wish you’d stop worrying about those scars, they aren’t nearly as bad as you think they are. One hardly notices unless they look for them.”

“Well, in any case, I feel quite lovely.” Rose looked down at her dress. It was purple, with a bit of beading to make her sparkle and shine, with beautiful gauze sleeves that would be perfect for the elegant Viennese Waltz.

“Did you get our number?”

Alfred nodded and turned around to show her his back. “We’re fourteen. That’s my lucky number.”

“Then we’re destined to win,” Rose whispered, hoping that would be true.

\--------------------------------------

“Good god, is this really going to go on all day?” Mycroft asked, examining the program in his hands.

“Yes. Clearly if that is what is printed, that is how long it will take,” Sherlock said. “You’ll stay and you’ll pretend to enjoy yourself.”

“I’m certain I will enjoy myself, but I didn’t take her seriously when she said it was an all day event. I suppose the nation can hold itself together for the space of a day,” the eldest Holmes decided. “Hopefully.”

The dancers began taking their places on the large ballroom floor and the men turned all their attention to looking for Rose.

“Oh, she has a prime spot there, in the front,” John pointed out.

“They’ll dance around the floor, all the couples will, but yes, the judges are able to see her,” Sherlock said. “Hopefully their eyes will stay with her and Alfred.”

The crowd hushed as the first strains of ‘The Girl With the Pearl Earring’ could be heard. The couples went instantly into hold and began their well practiced choreography. Alfred pulled Rose close and she arched her neck, and properly in hold, they swirled into the middle of the floor. The steps were intricate and beautiful; their lines clean with excellent fluidity.

“She’s… far more talented than I realized,” Mycroft whispered.

“I’ve been telling you that for ages. She did all their choreography, you know,” Sherlock responded.

The eyes of all three men were drawn to Rose and Alfred, ignoring all the other dancers on the floor, until the music finished and they rose with the crowd to clap and cheer.

“I have to admit I’m impressed,” Mycroft stated. “I hope they call her back for the next round.” He watched with a smile as Rose waved to the crowd before scurrying backstage to get ready for the next dance.

Forty-five minutes later, after the other brackets of the competition had had their first round, the call backs for Rose’s group were announced and their scores placed on the board. “We did it! Alfred, look at that! Twenty-eight out of thirty and our number is called back!” She jumped a bit and threw her arms around him, making him laugh and hold her tight.

The foxtrot was impressive and with the couples down to twelve it was even easier for John, Sherlock and Mycroft to keep an eye on Rose. When callbacks came around again, Rose and Alfred were tied for first place as they took to the floor for their quickstep.

When they finished, John watched in concern as he spotted Rose off to the side, coughing a bit before leaving the floor. “Sherlock, she’s coughing. We should go check on her.”

Sherlock frowned. “Why?”

“Because she might be in trouble, that’s why,” John retorted. “Are you coming with me, or not?”

Rolling his eyes Sherlock got up to follow John backstage and watched his flatmate explain multiple times that one of his patients was a competitor in order for them to gain access.

When they finally managed to make it to the competitor dressing rooms, it seemed to John that every single woman was in some sort of state of undress and it was not only distracting, but it was embarrassing, and his face flushed in response to that embarrassment. It also irked him to no end that Sherlock appeared to be completely oblivious to the half naked women surrounding them.

“John! Sherlock! Bloody hell!” Rose shouted when she spotted them. She quickly pulled a dressing gown on and held it tightly closed. “What are you two doing here? This is the changing room for heaven’s sake.”

“I saw you coughing out there and was concerned. Are you having trouble breathing at all?” John asked, keeping his eyes focused on her.

“No! Alfred elbowed me as we were exiting and it took the wind out of me,” Rose told him. Feeling someone poke at her shoulder, she looked behind her to see another dancer standing there.

“He’s pretty,” she commented, indicating Sherlock. “He yours?”

Rose vigorously shook her head no. “He’s my brother.”

The other dancer beamed. “Can I have him then?”

Sherlock looked at the other woman, an eyebrow quirked, and merely said, “No.”

“No? Why not? You aren’t even looking at my assets are you?” The woman asked.

“No.”

John couldn’t help but laugh at the look of outrage on the dancer’s face at being rejected in such a detached manner by Sherlock.

“Oh for god’s sake, get out of here, both of you! John’s getting all embarrassed at the half naked girls and having women fawn over my brother is quite frankly disgusting! Both of you out,” Rose ordered.

“Can we go now John?” Sherlock asked impatiently. “Some of these women are eyeing me in a rather predatory fashion and it is alarming.”

John gave Rose a hug and kissed her cheek. “Best of luck love, you’re doing great.” When Sherlock made no move, John elbowed him. “Tell your sister she’s marvelous and then we can leave.”

“You’re marvelous, but you already know that,” Sherlock told her.

“Oh just get out,” Rose laughed. “Seriously, get out!” She shook her head as they made their way towards the exit, cringing at the number of women who tried to get Sherlock’s attention as he passed them by.

\-------------------------------------

“Mycroft, you can look now, they’ve stopped dancing,” John said with a chuckle after the final set of dances. “It was a tango, haven’t you seen a tango before? They generally all look like that.”

“I’ve seen it plenty of times. What I haven’t seen is my sister moving like that while doing a tango and I find it highly inappropriate. Incredibly disturbing in fact,” Mycroft grumbled, glaring at the doctor. “She’s not old enough to move like that. Not for at least another twenty years.”

“Says the man who told me I was going to make her a spinster. You aren’t any better than I am,” Sherlock pointed out. “You’re not, don’t fool yourself Mycroft.”

The eldest Holmes refused to respond other than glaring at Sherlock.

“I think she’s going to win this. She’s been neck and neck with that other couple, who aren’t nearly as good,” Sherlock said, changing the subject.

“Well, these scores will decide it. The judges appear to be taking their time,” John added.

“I’m quite impressed with Rose today. I should have taken her more seriously. Don’t you dare tell her I said that,” Mycroft stated. “I’ll completely deny it if you do. She’s _very_ good. If this is her first competition and she’s scoring this well, who knows how far she’ll go.”

Backstage, Alfred was holding Rose tightly. “We’ve done it. I can’t believe it. And you, just a month out of surgery,” he whispered. “I can’t even believe it. We’re going to win Rose, I can feel it.”

Rose looked up at him with a brilliant smile, feeling more confident than she had in a very long time. “It’s like a dream Alfred, I never imagined, not our first competition…”

Their number was called before Rose could finish her thought and hand in hand, she and Alfred went back onto the dance floor with the other couple.

“This was quite a tight competition,” the announcer began. “Newcomers and last year’s champions going head to head and riding one another’s coat tails the entire day. The judges thought long and hard and the difference in the scores is only one single point.”

Rose gripped Alfred’s hand so tightly she nearly put him on his knees, but Alfred kept a bright smile plastered on his face the whole time.

“And our winner, ladies and gentlemen, is couple 17! Jamie Freeman and Samuel Harrison! Let’s give both our couples a round of applause!”

The ballroom erupted in cheers and clapping for both couples, who each took a bow for the audience.

“Oh god, this is going to break her,” Mycroft murmured.

Rose’s boys looked on with great pride as Rose kept a smile on her face, turned to the winning couple and extended her hand to shake theirs. With a final wave to the audience, Rose and Alfred disappeared backstage.

\-------------------------------------

Backstage, Rose changed into her street clothes and began removing her make-up.

“It’s not the end of the world Rose,” Alfred whispered. “We should be really proud of ourselves. Second place, among champions who have been doing this a lot longer than we have.”

“Second place is the first to lose,” Rose whispered. “And Mycroft is going to say ‘I told you so’ and make me do something else, something he considers a real career, because I’ve failed at the one I chose.”

Alfred sighed heavily. “I’m going to go find my folks. We’ll talk later, when you’re in better spirits.” He gave her a one-armed hug before taking his leave.

With quiet determination, Rose finished removing her make-up and packed up her costumes and other belongings. It took every bit of energy she had left not to start crying right then, but she couldn’t do that. She had to hold her head up high and not act like a baby where people could still see her. There would be plenty of time for her tears when she faced Mycroft as the loser he’d predicted she’d be.

Finally, there was nothing left to pack and nothing else to do except leave. Rose took a few deep breaths, and then exited the dressing area to go look for her brothers and John.


	24. Try a Little Tenderness

Just as Rose was exiting the changing room, her mobile rang. “Hello?”

“Alfred called me,” Louise said by way of greeting.

“Of course he did. He thinks we did brilliant, but we did not do brilliant,” Rose responded glumly.

“Yes, you did. But I’m not going to argue with you about it, because you’re very stubborn and I don’t want to fight. I called to ask if you wanted to go out,” Louise admitted.

Rose instantly brightened at the idea. “Yeah! Come over to Baker Street, we’ll dress sexy and then go get smashed,” she replied as she rounded a corner of the hallway….

And ran smack into Mycroft who promptly gave her a very forbidding look, quirked eyebrow and all.

She went pale and then immediately started laughing. “Louise! I can’t believe you fell for that. That’s a horrible idea; we never do anything like that.”

After a slight pause Louise responded, saying, “Mycroft overheard that, didn’t he? And he’s giving you that _look_ right this second, isn’t he?”

“Most definitely.”

“He’s never going to forget about that stupid bottle of wine. We were fourteen, that was a million years ago,” Louise said with a sigh. “And I bet he’s not buying the ‘I can’t believe you fell for that’ either. It’s so unfortunate sometimes that he’s as intelligent as he is. Completely ruins all our fun.”

Rose nodded, even though Louise couldn’t see it. “Very true on all counts, mores the pity.”

Louise snorted and laughed. “Though he is sort of right to be concerned, you can’t hold your liquor to save your life.”

“Gee, thanks for that Lou. You’re an awful friend,” Rose teased. “I should go though. I’ll call you later, alright?”

“Sounds good. Do call though or I’ll worry and think you’re drinking and having loads of fun without me,” Louise said with a snicker.

Rose laughed and bid Louise goodbye before hanging up the phone. She immediately sobered as she faced her brothers and John. She spared a quick glance to Sherlock and John before turning her full attention to her eldest brother.

Though she didn’t notice it, Sherlock was watching her with grave concern. The laughter and sparkle normally found in her eyes had disappeared, as did any sign of mirth from a mere moment ago when teasing Louise. Instead, she looked resolute, yet ready to break at any second, her eyes filled with tears she fought to keep from falling. He silently hoped that Mycroft wouldn’t screw this up and break her; if he did, Sherlock was going to break _him_.

“Before you say anything,” Rose said quietly, her voice trembling just a bit. “I’m really, really sorry and I know I deserve it, but please don’t say “I told you so.””

Mycroft opened his mouth, and then quickly closed it, frowning for several seconds. “What are you sorry for? That conversation I just overheard? I’ll forget about it, provided I never hear another one like it,” he offered. The look on her face told him that that wasn’t the issue at hand.

“You’ve been… well, not very supportive,” she admitted. “But you grudgingly allowed me to do this. To go back to dance and make a go of it, you’ve let me do that, even though I know you’d pretty much rather I do anything else. Anything that’s a “real” job. I knew I had to win, to show you I could do it and that it was a real job, that I could be good, really good…” Rose’s voice cracked and she took a deep breath.

“But I failed. I lost; I failed; and I know you’re disappointed in me. Disappointed that you gave me this opportunity and all I did was let you down. Don’t tell me you’re not disappointed because I know you are. I know you My, and I know you really are and you have every right to be, but I…” Rose fell silent, and began sniffling. She struggled to maintain her composure, but once she regained it, she continued.

“Please My, please, give me another chance. I’ll do better next time I swear. I’ll make you proud of me! I really will! Please don’t be disappointed, please! _Please_.” Her composure completely eroded and Rose turned her back towards them and let her tears fall.

Hearing her say things like that and watching her turn around to hide her tears from them was heartbreaking. John looked at Sherlock, expecting the man to do or say _something_ to comfort Rose. Except Sherlock did nothing.

“You can’t believe that Rose! Seriously, Mycroft, tell her that’s not true!” John shouted, feeling quite defensive on Rose’s behalf. “Tell her, tell her _now_!” When Mycroft didn’t respond fast enough for his liking, John moved forward, intending to comfort Rose himself.

Only to be stopped by Sherlock, who was surprisingly strong for someone so tall and lanky. “Don’t,” Sherlock said quietly. “They need to do this. He needs to set it right. He made her feel this way; he has to set it right. You can’t do that, and neither can I, no matter how much we might want to.”

John scowled at his friend, knowing Sherlock had the right of it, but disliking it all the same. It hurt him to see her hurting, but he could tell it was hurting Sherlock too. He knew the man would intervene if he didn’t believe Mycroft could fix this, and that was the only reason why John nodded curtly and stepped back.

It was moments like this that reminded Mycroft in the most painful of ways that he had a heart. It broke just a bit, seeing her standing there, as certain as she could be that he’d declare her an idiot- and not in the loving way they all called one another an idiot- and say she’d disappointed him. In fact, she probably thought right this second he was plotting to put her somewhere to do something else and scrap dancing completely.

Good lord, he’d made _so_ many mistakes with her. Damn it if he wouldn’t do his very best to not make any more! Mycroft quickly closed the space between them, turned Rose around, and wrapped her in a strong embrace. He hugged her as tightly as he dared and felt a wave of relief when she relaxed and hugged him in return.

“Don’t say another word,” he told her sternly. “I don’t ever want to hear you speak in that way again. Woe be unto you if you do. You have it all wrong, Poppet. So very, very wrong.” This last bit he whispered into her ear.

“They’ll be alright now,” Sherlock whispered to John. “Let’s give them a bit of space. Mycroft hates having an audience when he’s sentimental.” When John nodded his agreement, the two men wandered off down the hallway a ways.

“I’m as far from disappointed as a man can possibly be,” Mycroft said sincerely. “You were… wonderful. Very, very impressive, far better than I’d even imagined. I enjoyed seeing you compete today and am immensely proud of you. You have such talent! Not only to perform the dances but to choreograph them for not only yourself, but your partner too? That’s immensely impressive.”

Rose looked up at him and brushed away tears from her face. “You mean that? Truly? You’re not disappointed, not even that I didn’t win? And you won’t make me be a lawyer or some other truly awful profession that I’ll be bored at forever and ever?”

Mycroft shook his head. “No, certainly not. I’m so very proud of you. You really were wonderful, I could hardly believe it. Sherlock kept looking at me as though I were an idiot for not having seen this the whole time. He’s right, not that I’ll give him the satisfaction of knowing that. And you’d best not tell him.”

“I won’t, promise,” Rose hurriedly assured him. “But honestly, you mean that? You’re proud?”

“You placed, and there was significant talent out there. Not only did you place, but you took second and were only a single point behind the winners. That’s marvelous poppet, don’t you see that?” Mycroft asked.

“No. The first thing I thought was how disappointed in me you must be,” Rose admitted. “But I tried not to let it show.”

“It didn’t,” he said soothingly. “You smiled and kept that smile on your face and held out your hand in congratulations to the winners. That made me most proud of all. It was actually quite a relief. I thought to myself, thank god, somewhere along the way I managed to do something right.”

She started crying all over again and Mycroft cringed. “What? What did I say wrong now? I was being truthful and I thought they were nice truths,” he pointed out.

“They were!” Rose exclaimed. “I’m crying because I’m so happy I made you proud! I can’t remember the last time I did!”

There weren’t words for him to respond to that, so Mycroft didn’t even try. Instead, he hugged her tighter and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. After a moment or so, he took his handkerchief out and gave it to her. “Dry your face now. No more tears, happy or sad, they’re all done.”

She took it and wiped her wet face, then blew her nose into it. “Oh, sorry. I’ll wash it,” Rose offered when she caught the look on his face.

“Oh yes you will wash it. That’s disgusting!”

“That’s what handkerchief’s are for.”

“For _my_ nose, not yours. And don’t you even think about handing it back to me!” Mycroft scolded.

“Sherlock’s right, you’re as much of a drama queen as he and I are,” Rose decided.

“Impertinent brat!”

Rose smiled and shrugged. “Perhaps. But I’m _your_ impertinent brat.”

Mycroft returned her smile, almost overcome by an urge to ruffle her curls like he had when she was little. Except she wasn’t little anymore and he’d likely get injured for his troubles. “That you are indeed. Now let’s find Sherlock and John and do some celebrating. The kind that does not involve “getting smashed.””

She cringed. “I was totally kidding around with Louise. We’d never do that.”

Her eldest brother rolled his eyes in that oh-so-dramatic way only Mycroft could. “You’re a horrible liar, Rose.”

“I’m perfectly old enough to drink! The law says!” Rose shouted.

“The law hasn’t seen you drunk. I have, and it was not pretty. You can’t hold your liquor and you know it,” Mycroft scolded. “And don’t think I didn’t find out what you did that night you disappeared when you were sixteen and I had half of London’s police searching for you.”

Her jaw dropped and Rose looked completely outraged. “Sherlock promised he wouldn’t tell!”

“Lestrade made no such promise,” Mycroft told her with a smirk.

“I’m going to kill him,” Rose decided.

Down the hall, Sherlock smiled at the sound of their raised voices.

“Why are you smiling? They’re fighting,” John pointed out, looking confused.

“They are. But it’s the good kind.”

The doctor looked even more puzzled now. “There’s a good kind of fighting?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and gave a dramatic sigh. “John, of course there is. The kind with smiles and feigned outrage; somewhere between playful banter and the outright tossing of insults. It means they’re all sorted out now.”

John gaped at his flatmate, unable to formulate a coherent response for a full minute. “How in god’s name did she end up so _normal_? Someone please explain that to me, because otherwise I’m just going to assume it was fluke.”

“She was a fluke,” Sherlock responded seriously. “Completely unplanned and accidental. But I can honestly say she’s the best fluke that ever happened. Mycroft and I would have killed each other by now if it wasn’t for her. Don’t think I’m not serious either. He’s insufferable.”

“And you, in contrast, are all that is wonderful, I suppose?”

“Naturally!”

“Sherlock!” Rose called as she and Mycroft made their way towards them. “Tell Mycroft there’s no reason in the world why I can’t drink like every other normal person of legal drinking age.”

“That’s not a serious request. It can’t possibly be,” Sherlock decided, giving her a _look_. “Even you know you can’t hold your liquor.”

“I can in moderation!”

“I’m not convinced you even understand the meaning of that word,” Mycroft added. “We’re celebrating gentlemen. The drinks are for adults only.”

“I’m an adult! I’m twenty in a few weeks!” Rose whined.

Mycroft’s eyebrow quirked. “Also debatable. Don’t think I can’t, or won’t, flag your identification so no one will serve you anything anywhere for the next decade.”

John laughed. No one else did. “You’re serious? You can do that?”

“Oh John,” Rose sighed. “Haven’t you figured out by now that there’s very little Mycroft can’t do? Sure is fun winding him up about the booze though.” She gave him a devilish grin.

“Horrid child,” Mycroft decided, giving her ear a good tug and smirking when she made a whining noise.

“Makes you want a puppy instead, doesn’t it?” Sherlock asked with a smirk.

“Don’t be smart Sherlock. _I’m_ the smart one. Besides, I’d still replace you with a puppy any day. I’m invested in her, mores the pity.”

Rose sighed happily, linking her arms through those of her brothers. “We’re so dysfunctional, but isn’t it lovely?” she asked no one in particular.

\---------------------------------------------------

Later that evening, the trio returned to Baker Street following a celebratory dinner. Rose followed John and Sherlock into their flat and curled up on the couch to watch a movie and, in short order, fell asleep.

“How do you like that- ‘We have to watch a movie, come on, let’s watch a movie, oh please let’s watch a movie’,” he said, mimicking Rose. “And ten minutes in she’s asleep.” Sherlock looked down at her fondly as she slept snuggled up to his side.

“Not surprising,” John countered, settling into his own chair with a cup of tea. “She’s had a big day, a long day, and probably didn’t sleep that much last night, even after her anxiety attack passed.”

“It was odd, seeing her like that,” Sherlock admitted. “Disturbing and rather unexpected. It had been quite some time since she’d had one; at least as far as I know.”

“Is that what you and Mycroft were discussing this morning after we arrived?” John had excused himself to use the restroom and come back to find the brothers in a somewhat heated conversation which stopped the moment they spotted him.

“Yes. He’s almost always the cause of those panic attacks. She can’t bear the thought of him being disappointed in her,” Sherlock explained. “So I… strongly suggested Mycroft be gentle with her today, no matter what the outcome might be.”

“Strongly suggested?” John chuckled. “He looked ready to explode for a few seconds.”

Sherlock shrugged. “Condition normal. He was upset that I was right; hates that more than anything.”

“What went wrong between them? If you don’t mind my asking,” John added, not wanting to pressure Sherlock to open up about family business if he wasn’t inclined to do so.

“Mostly Mycroft. He did his best to make her miserable, sometimes on purpose, sometimes because he believed it was the right thing to do,” Sherlock began. “Rose had some tough years, around age 14, and Mycroft didn’t handle it well. Some of it was my fault. Well, probably a lot of it. But he should have handled things better. Less spanking, less shouting, more attempts to understand what was wrong.

“She spent the last three years, before she left, trying to make it up to him for behaving so poorly and never seemed able to measure up. That’s when the panic attacks started. She was always worried she’d disappoint him even further and got herself all worked up about it on a fairly regular basis. They abated a bit before she left, mostly because I think she stopped caring. Gave up trying to please Mycroft. He was… particularly unyielding.”

John nodded. “So you wanted to make certain that he wouldn’t respond with disappointment if she didn’t win?”

Sherlock nodded. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her. Challenging Mycroft is easy enough, and it forced them to heal some of the wounds of the past, so it worked out well. That sort of thing is very important to her.” He smiled down at Rose again, brushing a few stray curls from her face.

Rose stirred just a bit, opening her eyes for a moment before closing them again.

“Rose, you should get up and go to bed,” Sherlock said, trying to nudge her awake.

“Mmmmm.”

“I’m not going to sit and attempt to interpret your sleepy talk,” Sherlock replied. “It’s bedtime.” When he received no response, he rolled his eyes and stood up from the couch before picking her up. “Get the doors, will you John? I’m going to throw her in bed.”

An eyebrow quirked. “Not actually throw her, right?”

“Don’t be any more of an idiot then you have to be John,” Sherlock respond with a long-suffering sigh.

Shaking his head, John unlocked Rose’s door and held it open so Sherlock could carry her inside. John followed him into the bedroom and pulled back the bed covers, then stepped out of the room, but didn’t leave.

Sherlock carefully tucked Rose into bed, smiling all the while. He never got to tuck her in anymore and that was always one of his favorite parts of being her big brother. After making certain she was cozy for the night, he leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Sleep well Rosie,” he whispered.

John stood in the doorway, watching the scene unfold in front of him, and grinned like an idiot. It was always so refreshing to see Sherlock be so human.

His flatmate, however, was less than pleased to discover John had been standing there watching him tuck Rose in. “Not a word, John Watson. Not one,” he grumbled as they left Rose’s flat.

\-------------------------------------

“Morning!” Rose called out cheerfully when she entered showed up for breakfast. John handed her a cup of coffee and was promptly rewarded with a hug.

“You’re rather cheerful this morning,” John commented.

“Frightening isn’t it? I slept so well! I should exhaust myself more often,” Rose mused. “Or not; heavens John, don’t look at me like that. You’ll make me cranky.” She took several long drinks of her coffee and sighed contentedly before putting the mug down.

“Sherlock, you didn’t say good morning,” she commented, coming around the kitchen table to give him a hug.

“Good morning. Busy. Go away.”

Rose rolled her eyes but dutifully moved three feet away, just as she had when she was little. “I’ll not ask what you’re doing, because it’s undoubtedly boring or icky.”

Sherlock ignored her.

“Well I didn’t really come to have a conversation with you Sherlock. I just wanted to let you know that Louise and I are going out after I get done at the Yard and I haven’t a clue when I’ll come home,” Rose told him.

Again, no response from Sherlock.

“Where are you two off to?” John asked with a smile.

“Around. I think we’re going to get tattoos or pierce something today,” she responded absent mindedly.

John promptly choked on his tea. “Sorry?”

Rose gave him a smile. “A tattoo or get something pierced. Just because we feel like it. We feel like reinventing ourselves.”

“There’s not another, less permanent way to do that?” John asked incredulously.

“Louise said it’s my birthday present because it’s almost my birthday! Isn’t that nice? Maybe I’ll get one over the scar on my chest to sort of cover it up!”

She looked so excited about it that John didn’t have the heart to tell her it was a bad idea. Besides, he wasn’t her brother. “Sherlock, did you hear that? Rose is getting a tattoo or piercing something. Today. After work.”

“Mmhm, that’s fine,” the man at the microscope replied.

John’s eyebrows went up. He completely disagreed with the pronouncement that it was ‘fine!’

Rose grinned and closed the distance between herself and Sherlock, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “You’re a marvelous brother, you know that? He’s the fun brother,” she told John proudly.

“Rose, do go away now. I’m working,” Sherlock muttered in an irritated tone. “Surely there’s a more opportune time for sentiment than this very one.”

Just to irritate him, she gave him a hug before Rose downing the last of her coffee and dashing out the door, leaving the two men in the kitchen.

“Sherlock, did you hear anything at all that your sister said?” John asked curiously. Not even Sherlock was likely to agree to what Rose and Louise had planned; fun brother or not!

The detective finally looked up. “Can I really not have any peace at all while I’m working? What is so important that it’s worth interrupting me John?!”

“Oh, nothing,” his flatmate answered, almost laughing at the look of pure irritation on Sherlock’s face. He almost couldn’t wait for Rose to come back later on with her tattoo or piercing and see Sherlock’s response.

\---------------------------------

Rose arrived at NSY seven minutes early with the morning coffee in hand for herself and Lestrade. Only this morning, things were a little different. She entered Lestrade’s office through the open door, set his macchiato on his desk, and promptly walked back out.

Lestrade, who had been filling out some forms on his computer, caught her movements out of the corner of his eye. That was decidedly odd. Rose always plopped into one of the chairs in front of his desk to chat for a few minutes and he’d expected a rundown of her competition the day before, not the silent caffeine delivery he’d received.

That was when Lestrade noticed his macchiato. It was a _small_. Probably the smallest small he’d ever seen in his life. Something was definitely up. “You! In here!” he called, hoping Rose knew he meant her.

He frowned slightly when she sauntered in and sat down. “Problem?” she asked, trying to look innocent as she took a seat.

Greg wasn’t buying it for a minute. “Care to explain what this is?” he indicated the offensively small drink on his desk.

Rose shrugged. “It’s a macchiato. Though possibly not caramel, it might be hazelnut. Not sure.”

Greg found himself growing more confused by the minute. “But I never get hazelnut, I don’t like it.”

She shrugged again. “Wasn’t paying much attention. You’ll have to drink it and see.”

Alright, perhaps she hadn’t been paying attention to the flavor. “Why is it so… small?”

It took everything Rose had in her not to erupt into hysterical giggles. He looked so utterly dejected at the small size of his beloved drink. “I felt it was deserved.”

“Come again?”

“I felt it was deserved,” she repeated.

“Meaning I’ve done something wrong and so you downsized my macchiato as retribution?” Greg asked, unable to hide the exasperation in his tone. “Do you Holmes lot ever do anything that’s not full of some sort of twisted subtext?”

“Very good Greg!” Rose praised, beaming a little too brightly at him. “And very rarely. We love our subtexts, us Holmeses.”

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Want to tell me what I did, or are you going to make me puzzle it out? Or rather, pull it out of you. Maybe I should call Sherlock and he could clue me in.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “That’s low; _so_ low.”

“Well my macchiato is little; _so_ little,” Lestrade shot back, imitating her. “And I want to know why.”

Rose struggled to keep a straight face at his ridiculous impersonation of her, and the fact they were arguing over a macchiato. “Think hard; see if you can figure out why I would deprive you of your full dose of morning caffeine.”

His eyebrows rose. “We’re seriously going to do this? Sit here and play 20 questions? Not all of us have mind palaces.”

“Oh I know that. I don’t have one,” she admitted, garnering a look of surprise from Lestrade. “Mine’s more of a cottage I think. Maybe a yellow one, or pink, depending on my mood.”

“Alright, this has crossed over into ridiculousness,” Greg decided. “Will you please tell me? Can’t have been anything recently, you’ve behaved yourself lately.”

“Surprising isn’t it?” Rose asked, giggling a bit. “I’ll put you out of your misery. You tattled on me to Mycroft.”

“I did? When?” Deciding he didn’t have nearly enough caffeine in his system to continue this conversation, Lestrade took a drink of his offensively small drink.

“That night I went missing and everyone was out looking for me. Sherlock promised he wouldn’t tell Mycroft where I’d been and what I’d been up to and he didn’t. Only Mycroft does know, he told me yesterday, and says _you_ told him.”

“Was I not supposed to tell him?”

“Of course you weren’t supposed to!”

“No one told me that. Besides, I’m an officer of the law and he was your legal guardian, I couldn’t legally _not_ tell him.”

“But Sherlock knew, surely that was good enough! Or so I’m told, I don’t actually remember most of that night,” she admitted, blushing.

“Probably better. You were in rather rough shape. Sherlock had to physically haul you out of the marijuana haze in that warehouse. Not a bright move for a sixteen year old; or anyone for that matter. But you were under age, your guardian asked and I was required to tell him. Did he torture you or something?”

“Of course not, don’t be silly. But he never forgets anything and that just adds to my repertoire of poor choices,” Rose admitted. “So I was disgruntled and decided to just get you a little drink today. Mostly so I’d feel better.”

Greg rolled his eyes. “You’re a troublemaker, Rose Holmes.”

“Yep,” she agreed, grinning. “Anyway, I suppose I forgive you, if you really were forced to tell him. Try not to tell him anything else from now on, alright?”

“Why? What sorts of mischief do you have planned?” Lestrade asked. “Should I be concerned?”

Rose looked positively mischievous. “Who can say, really?”

“But I’ll get a proper sized macchiato tomorrow?”

“You’re as bad as I am with my coffee,” she laughed. “Yes, I promise you’ll get a proper sized one tomorrow.”

Greg chuckled, shaking his head at the whole situation. “Your poor brothers. You gave them a run for their money, didn’t you?”

“You have no idea, Greg!”

“Let’s keep it that way. Now be a good girl and go get to work; no more sass out of you!” he waved her out of the office with a smile on his face. When Rose was settled at her desk, he pulled out his mobile.

‘Your sister is hilarious.’

‘She punished me with a tiny coffee for something 4 yrs ago.’

‘Probably deserved it. SH’

‘I don’t suggest you retaliate in similar fashion. She’s mean when she doesn’t get her coffee. SH’

‘What did you do, exactly? SH’

‘Tattled, apparently. She really is a funny kid.’

‘We sort of like her. In those rare moments of quiet. SH’

‘I hope she gives you as much trouble as you give me. You deserve it.’

‘No reason to be surly Graham. I’m not the one who gave you tiny coffee. SH’

‘Greg.’

‘No, this is Sherlock. Are you quite well? SH’

‘Or was that sent to me mistakenly when it was meant for someone else? SH’

‘No, I’m Greg. Not Graham or any other name you come up with.’

‘Close enough. SH’

‘Not really.’

‘You enjoy toying with me, that’s why you do it.’

‘I have to have some recourse for handling boredom between cases. SH’

‘Send me a case and I might remember next time. SH’

Lestrade rolled his eyes, pocketed his mobile and turned his attention back to his computer. Sherlock was going to be the death of him one of these days, and he suspected Rose wasn’t far behind. Instinctively he knew that he didn’t stand a chance and could only chuckle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive the long span between updates for this fic. Grad school is being very brutal (I may not actually survive it) and I keep getting carried away by plot bunnies for Wildflower. Will try not to let so much time go between this chapter and the next!


	25. A Study in Poor Parenting

“Okay… Ew. Super ew,” Rose decided, wrinkling her nose.

“It’s a needle and it’s making a lovely Celtic knot on my shoulder. That’s not ew,” Louise replied, sounding a bit offended.

“Lou, you’re not even Celtic. Not even close.”

“That hardly matters. It’s going to be awesome!”

“Says the teenager,” Rose muttered.

“To the other teenager,” Louise countered. The girls shared a giggle that caused the tattoo artist to roll his eyes.

“I can’t believe this freaks you out Rose. Your brother dissects eyeballs on the dining table and a needle, ink and some blood is what bothers you?”

The tattoo artist looked up at Rose in alarm, wondering if he had the sister of a serial killer in his shop.

“No, don’t look like that. It’s for science, seriously,” Rose assured him. “And I sort of had to get over that bit, because Sherlock did that constantly and out of self-preservation I had to learn not to vomit each time he did.”

“You never got over the kidneys. Or the hands and toes,” Louise said by way of rebuttal.

“Nor severed heads, but Mycroft cured him of that one. I’m pretty sure Sherlock keeps those in a cooler or something, when he has them. I try not to think about that.”

“Wait, wait, Sherlock? Sherlock Holmes?” the tattoo artist interrupted.

“Yep, that’d be the one,” Rose confirmed.

“I didn’t know he had a sister, are you a detective too?”

“God no! I’m a dancer and I try not to associate myself with my brother too often. Either of them.”

Louise giggled. “Except she lives next door to the famous one so that’s awkward, the avoiding bit.”

“No, the fan mail is much more awkward,” Rose whispered. “Trust me. There’s something about that hat. It’s a stupid hat, I don’t get it. Wear a Stetson, that’s classy. Or a top hat or something. Not the most ridiculous looking hat that’s probably ever been manufactured.”

“I sort of like it,” Louise admitted. “Not that I fancy your brother. God no, oh _hell_ no,” she rushed to assure her best friend. “That’s… ew. No offense.”

“None taken. Let’s make a pact not to fancy each other’s brothers,” Rose suggested.

“You’re brilliant.”

“Tell Mycroft that, would you? I could use a bit of help in that department.”

Louise giggled. “So if you’re not getting a tat, what are you getting? Am I seriously going to be the only cool one of the two of us? That’ll completely upset the balance of our lives thus far, you know. You’re the brilliant one that I use for show and tell.”

“And what are you?”

“What’s that saying…? The one American men say in all their bromance flicks. Wingman? I’m your wingwoman.”

Rose gaped at her for several seconds before rolling her eyes. “Okay then. Well, back to the original question, I think I’ll get something pierced.”

“A nipple?”

“So awkward, Lou, really. And what if I get into some horrible car accident and they have to cut my clothes off to save my life or something?”

Louise snorted. “Unlikely. Be honest, you think Mycroft will know.”

“Of course he will. He knows everything. That’s why all our scathingly brilliant ideas failed miserably when we were little. Might as well be out in the open about it anyway, that way he can’t have too much of a hissy. Sherlock was completely fine with the idea this morning,” Rose admitted. “Which was a bit odd.”

“The permission of one brother is enough to stop a fit from the other,” Louise pointed out. “You and your awkward little set of co-parents. So-tongue? Lip?”

She shook her head. “Gross. Food. I think my nose. Just something tiny, nothing garish. Little bitty stud, something pink.”

“Uh, I can get you set up with someone to do that,” the tattoo artist offered. “We do piercings here too.”

“See?” Louise said excitedly. “You’re good to go! Go on; get it done before you talk yourself out of it. Can I be there when Mycroft sees it? _Please_? God he’s so funny sometimes. I can hear it now ‘Rosenwyn Holmes, you are a lady and ladies don’t have piercings in the cartilage of their nasal cavity.’”

Rose giggled hysterically for a moment. “Next time we see him, do that impression. He’ll _hate_ it!” She gave Louise a wink before following another worker to a station to get her nose pierced.

\------------------------------

Newly ‘reinvented’, as the girls liked to think of it, the two best friends departed the tattoo parlor. Unable to remember the last time she’d had an evening to herself, no dancing or teaching dancing, and no confinement to the flat, Rose made sure she had a grand time with Louise. They did some window shopping- and fell in love with shoes they had no need for but bought them anyway- and went out to dinner to wrap up their night.

It was after dark by the time the girls parted ways and Rose caught a cab back to Baker Street. After paying her fare, she stepped out and was surprised to see Mycroft exiting his own car at that same time.

“My! Were we expecting you? I was out with Louise,” Rose told him, smiling brightly.

“No, you weren’t,” Mycroft assured her. “But I wanted to speak to you about something and--” His voice trailed off and he frowned as Rose moved closer and he caught sight of her face.

“Ask me what? Let’s go in, it’s cold,” she urged, pulling her coat tighter.

Her eldest brother frowned, his mouth settling into a thin line for a moment. “What is that?” Mycroft pointed to her nose, his voice low and quiet.

“My nose; with a nose ring. I got it pierced today, Louise paid for it for my birthday,” Rose said calmly.

Mycroft’s mouth fell open as he stared at her. “Oh no; _no_. Absolutely not. That’s coming out right this minute,” he declared. “What in heaven’s name were you thinking?”

Not wanting to fight with him, Rose forced herself not to immediately become offensive. “I like it and I’m an adult. I’m allowed to reinvent myself and have a nose piercing if I so choose. That’s what normal people my age do, redefine themselves. I’m sorry if you don’t like it, but it’s my nose.”

“You’re _sorry_ if I don’t like it?” he repeated in a dangerous tone. “How many times must we have this discussion throughout your life, Rosenwyn? You are a lady and ladies don’t have piercings in the cartilage of their nasal cavity. They are ridiculous and unattractive and unnecessary and irrelevant, and host of other things as well. I won’t allow it. It’s coming out.”

“My! I told Sherlock about it this morning and he said it was fine. If he’s fine with it, why can’t you be?” she asked.

The look on Mycroft’s face darkened ominously. “Did he now?” Without waiting for an answer, he took her by the arm and marched her inside and up to John and Sherlock’s flat.

“Sherlock!” Rose called out. “Tell Mycroft to leave me alone about my piercing. It’s not appropriate if you give permission and then he takes it away, especially when it’s my nose in question.”

Sherlock looked up from the book he was reading. “I what? Piercing? Permission? Have you lost your mind? I would never give you permission to do such a thing! It’s vulgar and _dull_.”

“Dull?” Mycroft repeated incredulously as he allowed Rose to wriggle out of his grasp.

“Actually, Sherlock, you did,” John interrupted. “Rose came in this morning and told us both about her plans. You said ‘fine’ and you weren’t pleased when I tried to verify you’d actually heard what Rose said.”

Mycroft had had it and Rose backed away just a bit, knowing a bellow was imminent. “THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU’RE IN CHARGE?” he shouted. “You and your confounded experiments always taking your attention away from everything around you! She is clever Sherlock, too clever, and you make it far too easy for her to circumvent you with her mad schemes. You always have! It’s unconscionable Sherlock! Why do we still have to have this conversation? You’re supposedly an adult! Grow up already and parent properly for once in your life!”

This is bound to go over well, Rose though to herself. She gave John an apologetic look.

Sherlock jumped up from his chair, unwilling to let Mycroft have the upper hand by towering over him. “I will _handle_ it Mycroft! Must you always do this? You’re not my parent, you’re her parent!”

“I might as well have been your parent!” Mycroft shot back.

“Well if you were and you’re this unhappy with me all these years later, congratulations, brother, you did a rubbish job!” Sherlock shouted.

Unwilling to be caught in the middle of the fray, which if the shouting was any indication could come to blows, John vacated his chair and sought refuge in the kitchen. He wasn’t the least bit surprised when Rose followed suit.

“Is it always like this?” he asked.

“Not always. Maybe once a year or so they have an epic screaming fit over who is the better parent and how the other one can improve their parenting skills and just all sorts of nonsense. I never really stuck around when they got this way. Went out the window and took the tube to Louise’s. Sometimes it a good two hours before they finished and realized I was gone,” Rose admitted.

Rolling her eyes, she moved further away from her brothers, knowing they’d have to scream it out at one another and wouldn’t appreciate her interference. “Need coffee,” she told John. “They’re so stressful sometimes.”

Mycroft spotted her at the coffee maker out of the corner of his eye. “How many cups is that today Rosenwyn? You’ve already been to the coffee shop twice, isn’t that enough?”

“ _Shut up_ Mycroft,” Rose practically bellowed, her frustration level reaching its peak. “I’m an adult and I’ll drink all the coffee I want. And if you take my coffee away, I will become a murderer and _you_ will be my first victim.”

Suddenly shouting at Sherlock took second place and Mycroft crossed the kitchen with a look that boded poorly for Rose, and her behind, on his face. “You, young lady, may _think_ you’re an adult but you are most definitely _not_ too old for a sound smacking if you think that is an appropriate way to speak to me!”

“Wait! I didn’t mean it, I apologize! I really apologize most sincerely!” Rose exclaimed, moving as far away from her approaching brother as was possible, one hand over her bum, the other hand out in front of her to ward off her decidedly unhappy brother.

“Oh Mycroft, leave her be! You should know better by now than to interfere with her caffeine,” Sherlock interjected. He looked the picture of exasperation, particularly when Mycroft came back towards _him_ and the argument about her nose piercing, and Sherlock’s lackadaisical parenting resumed at full force.

“I should never have agreed to let her move in here! Clearly you are ill equipped for this Sherlock! What’s next? Today it’s a nose piercing, tomorrow it will be--”

“Mycroft, arguing in front the child undermines our authority and I’ve been telling you this for years! It’s really not appropriate to fight in front of the child at all!” Sherlock shouted, cutting his brother off mid-rant. “You and your stupid parenting books, didn’t you read that part? I didn’t read any and even _I_ know that! Would you please cease your shouting like some sort of raging hormonal banshee?!”

John and Rose shared a look and nearly dissolved into hysterical laughter at Sherlock’s exasperated comment. “He read parenting books? Mycroft? Seriously?” he asked when he felt sufficiently under control.

She nodded until she could get her desire to laugh under control enough to elaborate. “He took his duties as a stand-in father very seriously, I’ve been told. Sort of adorable really, except when it’s not,” Rose told him with a shrug. “In about four minutes, My is going to smack Sherlock good with his brolly. Or poke him in the chest with it.”

“Can I ask you something?” John questioned, doing his best to ignore the shouting and pretend their flat hadn’t become the epicenter of a world war.

“Sure, why not?” Rose decided.

“Why’d you do it?”

“This?” she asked, indicating her nose. “It’s a bit cool I think and I’m trying to move forward and everything. Reinvent myself a bit. Seemed the least damaging way to do that, honestly. I didn’t get a tattoo though, in case you’re wondering.”

John nodded, considering her words for a moment before responding. “Alright, I can respect that. Might a make a comment about something you should consider though, in this reinventing process?” When she nodded her permission, he continued on. “If I was a parent taking my daughter to dance classes, I’d probably think twice before turning my three year old over to a dance instructor with a nose ring.”

Rose frowned, considering his words. “I look like less of a professional with a nose ring. You’re not upset that I have one, you just want me to consider the sort of image I need to have as both a dancer and a teacher?”

“Precisely. Not going to say you should take it out or tell you to leave it in. It’s just something you should think about,” John agreed.

“That’s actually a really good point,” she admitted, blushing a bit. “I didn’t think about that before I got it. I want my job and career so much more than I want a nose ring. Why didn’t you say something this morning?”

“I’m not your brother, or your stand-in parent. Those two lunatics over there are,” he replied, pointing at two screaming men.

“They _are_ lunatics,” Rose agreed. She carefully took out the nose ring and walked calmly over to her brothers. She poked Mycroft’s arm until he stopped to pay attention to her and then put the nose ring in his hand before silently returning to her coffee.

The two men stopped and looked at Mycroft’s hand in confusion as if unable to process what they were seeing.

Sherlock recovered first. “What just happened?”

“John, who is clearly the only sane person here out of the lot of you, made an excellent point. One which I couldn’t argue with and so I’ve decided not to have a nose ring,” Rose explained.

“And what point did the good doctor make?” Mycroft inquired.

“He said that if he was a parent, he’d think twice before turning his daughter over to a dance instructor with a nose ring. I like my job and want to keep it far more than I want to have a nose ring, so the nose ring is done.”

The two brothers frowned looked at John, who merely shrugged. “Just seemed like common sense to me. She’s more than willing to listen to reason, if you treat her like an adult. Unlike the two of _you_ who looked ready to come to blows a moment ago.”

Mycroft looked ready to spit nails and it took everything Rose had in her to keep from laughing hysterically. Her brother, bested by a _normal_ person.

“I trust we won’t have any further issues of this nature, then, if you’re now aware of the negative impacts it has on your professionalism?” Mycroft asked.

“Correct. Now hug it out,” she requested.

“No,” both men answered, sounding scandalized.

“Yes. We’re family; we love each other, and that was a nasty row. Hug it out and apologize.”

The look on their faces was not one of familial affection. In fact it was something more akin to a person having ingested acid.

“Or at least shake hands. I don’t like it when you both do that. I never have,” Rose admitted. “Do it for me. Shake hands for me. For the record, by the way, I think Sherlock is lovely just the way he is. I also sort of like you too Mycroft. But you really shouldn’t pick on Sherlock so much. He’s had less practice than you, after all.”

“Oh how I hate it when she’s right about something,” Mycroft grumbled.

“It is rather disconcerting,” Sherlock agreed. “I do my best with her. We just have different ways of doing it. My way is clearly best, but you’re entitled to your way, particularly if you’ve resigned yourself to being the mean brother.”

“Sherlock really!” Rose scolded. “You two are exasperating and you’re also rubbish parents, the pair of you. Shakes hands _now_.”

They didn’t move even a teeny tiny bit.

 _“_ Now as in immediately!”

Sherlock gave his baby sister a look. “You sounded exactly like Mycroft just now.”

Rose’s mouth dropped open. “Sherlock! That’s a terrible thing to say!” Rather than throw a pillow at him, she went over and soundly smacked his shoulder with it. “Don’t say such awful things!”

“Why is it awful that you sound like me?” Mycroft inquired, looking very offended.

“Deduce it, genius. _After_ you shake hands with Sherlock,” Rose retorted sarcastically.

Looking as if they were about to face an execution, the two brothers shook hands.

“Thank you. Now that all the shrieking mess is done, what brings you here Mycroft?” Rose curled up in Sherlock’s chair and sipped at her coffee, which John had kindly brought to her.

“I wanted to issue you an invitation in the hope that you’d be willing to do me a favor,” he admitted, taking John’s chair. “But I’m no longer certain that’s wise.”

“God, you don’t expect much do you?” Rose asked in all seriousness. “‘You’re a lady, ladies don’t wear nose rings’ as if I’ve actually done something outrageous, have such a fit it’s lucky the police weren’t called, and then want me to do you a favor? That’s rich, My, that’s really rich, even for you.”

“Don’t be smart!”

“Don’t be smart, I’m the smart one,” Rose and Sherlock imitated in unison.

Mycroft sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. “Aren’t you the least bit curious what I would need to ask of you?”

Rose’s eyes narrowed for a minute before she answered. “Against my better judgment, yes, I am.” She sipped at her coffee, giving him an expectant look.

“My presence is required at a diplomatic reception just after the New Year and I was thinking you might be interested in accompanying me.”

“Why would I be? Sounds boring.”

“It is and that’s why I’d like someone intelligent there with me. Besides, there’s dancing and my employer asked me to bring you,” Mycroft explained.

Rose beamed brightly. “I’ve always liked her so much.”

“Liked who?” John asked.

“The Queen. She’s lovely. I get a birthday card from her every year, other than last year when I was gone.”

John gaped at her. “You know the Queen? The Queen of England?”

“She does, since the age of four when she stormed Buckingham Palace and rather than being cross with her, the Queen asked her if she’d like tea and biscuits,” Mycroft grumbled.

“How does a four-year-old storm _Buckingham Palace_?”

“Some of my previous PAs were far less… efficient and capable than Anthea.”

“I was very upset that day John. I had stitches in my head and it was very traumatic and My sent his stupid PA to collect me from school rather than come himself. Naturally I threatened to run away forever and ever if she didn’t bring me to Mycroft immediately,” Rose explained.

“Oh. Naturally,” John echoed, disbelief written all over his face.

“In any case, she said I must come to this one and wouldn’t it be wonderful to bring my delightful sister with me,” Mycroft explained.

“I’ll do it,” Rose agreed with a smile. “Even if everyone else is boring, the Queen is lovely and there will be dancing and that’s always excellent. On one condition: I get a new dress and price is no object. Naturally that includes a clutch and shoes appropriate to the occasion.”

“Done. Anthea will take you shopping in a few weeks to ensure your choice is appropriate.”

“Why don’t you take Anthea?” Sherlock asked.

“She refuses to go. She’s been to several of them and is, admittedly, due a break,” Mycroft stated. “Now, promise me that you won’t go off and shave your head, get a tattoo, or pierce anything else before then.”

Rose’s eyes lit up. “Does that mean I can do all those things after the reception?”

Mycroft gave her a stern look, clearly not amused. “No.”

“Oh well,” she sighed. “I promise anyway.”

“Excellent. I’ll take my leave then,” Mycroft decided as he rose from the chair.

“Please do, brother, and don’t hurry back,” Sherlock said by way of a farewell.

Rolling her eyes, Rose got up to give Mycroft a hug, whether he wanted one or not. “Be kind to Sherlock,” she whispered. “He’s always taken good care of me, even if it’s not the way you would have done it.”

“Hmm. I suppose that’s true,” he replied. “Be good. Also, stop sounding so grown up.”

“Poor My, getting so very old,” she teased.

Mycroft shook his head. “It’s a miracle I’m not dead, to be honest,” he told her. “You’ve never been easy. You or Sherlock.”

“Would you really like me any other way?” Rose inquired, clearly curious.

“I’d prefer you to be less cheeky and think things through a bit more, but aside from that, I don’t think I’d want you to change anything,” he admitted. “I’ve grown accustomed to you over the years.” Mycroft kissed her cheek before departing the flat.

Rose watched him leave, shaking her head. “John, do you want a refill? I think I need a refill,” she murmured, retrieving her coffee mug.

“Rose, come here,” Sherlock requested, crooking his finger.

She eyed him suspiciously. “Why?”

“Come over here and sit down,” he told her, indicating the place next to him on the couch.

With a heavy sigh Rose put her mug down and cross the room to sit by Sherlock.

“I don’t appreciate what you did today,” he told her sternly. “You know very well when I am and am not paying attention to what you say. Just because I don’t pay attention that does not give you license to go out and do whatever you feel like doing, particularly when it brings the wrath of Mycroft down on my head.”

Despite herself, Rose could feel her face growing red and hot. Her gaze shifted from his face down to the sofa cushion. She promptly frowned at the cushion when she realized recalled it was a plain color and not patterned.

Sherlock almost smiled to himself when her gaze shifted like that. She’d always been that way- as soon as it was too hard to look he or Mycroft in the face, she’d look somewhere else and start tracing patterns with her fingers, or fiddling with a waistcoat or shirt button, or twisting a blanket in her hands. It was a nervous habit and one that was rather adorable, he admitted to himself. But more than being adorable, it was her quiet acceptance that he was correct. Rose never gave up without a fight unless she knew she was wrong, as she did now.

“I think you know very well Rosenwyn that I would not have given my approval to you piercing your nose or anywhere else. It’s vulgar and dull, and you are neither of those things,” Sherlock told her quietly. “I’m disappointed that you chose to seek permission when you know I was absorbed in my work, rather than have a proper dialogue with me about it. _Very_ disappointed. You’re too old to play those games.”

Rose sniffled but didn’t respond immediately, so Sherlock waited patiently for her to decide to do so.

“Sometimes… sometimes it’s harder than you think, knowing when you actually are paying attention but keeping your eyes glued on your experiment and when you’re not,” she finally said quietly. Rose took a deep breath and then raised her head to look at him. “I honestly thought you were listening fully. I wasn’t trying to take advantage of the fact you were distracted. Not this time.”

Sherlock reached out and gently cupped her cheek, rubbing his thumb gently across it, drying the stray tears that had begun falling. “Then let’s consider this a learning opportunity. Next time be absolutely certain you’ve got my attention and next time I’ll be clearer about where my focus lies. Sometimes there are experiments I can’t just stop in the middle of,” he explained. “Does that sound fair?”

Rose nodded. “It does.”

“This is our one learning opportunity,” Sherlock reiterated. “I won’t be lenient if I think you’ve manipulated me from this point forward, now that we’ve communicated about the matter. Is that clear?”

“It’s clear.”

“That’s my good girl,” Sherlock murmured before leaning forward to kiss her forehead.

“Did Mycroft hurt your feelings?” Rose asked suddenly.

“Oh _please_ Rose,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “Why?”

“Because I wanted you to know that he’s got it all wrong. You’re not bad at parenting, you’re just very different from how he is,” Rose explained.

“That’s mostly because I never wanted to _be_ your parent. I wasn’t old enough to feel the massive sense of responsibility that Mycroft did when you were born. He was bound to step into that role, one way or another, and he merely did it the best way he knew how.

“I was content to just be your big brother and really only stepped more towards parental responsibilities when the need arose,” Sherlock tried to explain. “When Mother’s health really deteriorated at a rapid pace and I knew Mycroft couldn’t do it on his own. Not that he’d ever admit that, but I knew it. I didn’t do it for him though, I did it for you.”

Rose wrapped her arms around Sherlock, hugging him tightly before simply moving onto his lap. “For what it’s worth,” she whispered. “You’re my very favorite Sherlock in the whole wide world, even when you have to be a meanie.”

Sherlock chuckled and hugged her tightly. “And you’re still my very favorite brat in the whole wide world, always; no exceptions.”

“Even when I pierce my nose and bring the wrath of Mycroft on your head?”

“Even then; promise.”

“Anything to be the fun brother, right?” Rose asked, giving him a grin.

“Absolutely. There’s nothing better than throwing it in Mycroft’s face that I’m the fun brother. It irks him so and that’s just _fun,”_ Sherlock gave her a devilish grin that sent her into a fit of giggles.

John, who sat in his chair, completely forgotten by the siblings, merely shook his head and smiled.


	26. Of Brothers and Mud Puddles

Rose gave the waiter a bit of a smile. Even he pitied her; that was most definitely a pity-filled smile. It was no wonder he gave her said smile, considering she’d been sitting alone for a good twenty minutes now. She’d already eaten her supply of bread and had finished her first cup of tea. Rose was getting desperate, so she reached for her mobile…

In a building nearby, Mycroft’s mobile vibrated in his suit pocket. Pulling it out, he discovered it was Rose and rolled his eyes. “Police, fire or ambulance?” he asked by way of greeting.

“My, I- - wait, what?”

“You never call me Rose. You avoid verbal conversations via mobiles as if it will give you the plague. The fact that you are calling me must indicate an emergency, so let me ask again: police, fire or ambulance? Tell me which you need, and I’ll have Anthea promptly dispatch the appropriate service,” Mycroft answered glibly.

‘Where is she?’ he mouthed to Anthea.

“Oh Mycroft, don’t be so dramatic,” Rose scolded. “It is an emergency, but not of that sort. Please, please tell me you aren’t busy right this moment.”

His ever dependable PA had an address for him within just a few keystrokes and Mycroft pocketed the information before answering his sister. “At this precise moment, I’ve got my coat on about to leave the office for lunch. What is going on and why are you whispering? Or hissing, rather.”

“Do you have someone you’re meeting for lunch?”

“No.”

“Now you do,” Rose told him. “Please come as fast as you can, I’ll explain when you get here, just know I’m not in any mortal danger. I’m at- -”

“I have the address already, Anthea is quite efficient.”

Rose paused. “Alright that’s a bit creepy My. But anyway, please come.” She promptly hung up her mobile and insisted that the waiter not take the other menu away from the table. “No, I’ve just talked to him. He’s on his way; he’ll be walking in the door in about five and a half minutes I bet!”

Another look full of pity and the waiter disappeared once more.

Four minutes later, Mycroft entered the restaurant was led to Rose’s table. He ordered tea before giving his sister his full attention. “I can hardly wait to hear what this is all about,” he said, his tone dripping of sarcasm.

“I had a date and he hasn’t showed. I’ve been here ages and they were all giving me sad looks. I was too embarrassed to pay for my tea and leave,” Rose admitted. “I knew your office was nearby so I thought it was at least worth a try.”

“Hmm. I’m flattered I think,” Mycroft decided. “Nice to know you still need me for a few things now and again.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “You’re ridiculous. I need you for plenty of things still. But in any case, thank you for coming. I won’t have to die of humiliation now.”

“It’ll be nice to be treated to lunch for a change. Usually I pay; or rather the government does,” Mycroft admitted. The look of shock on her face made him smirk with glee.

“I’m not rich you know. You could offer to split it with me,” Rose pouted.

“Oh, I’m well aware you aren’t rich. I pay one-fourth of your rent each month in order to keep you from becoming a starving street urchin,” he quipped.

“I’m surprised you don’t consider the fact that Sherlock would then recruit me for his homeless network a plus side to that option,” Rose teased.

“Oh, don’t believe for a second I haven’t given that every due consideration, along with… twenty-seven other scenarios,” Mycroft told her. “And of course I’ll pay. A gentleman always pays. So, tell me about this boy.”

“No, I don’t think so. If he can’t manage to show up for a lunch date he invited me to, he’s not worth any further consideration. Might as well not put him on your radar, brother mine. After all, you might kidnap the poor fellow,” she pointed out.

“You’re very cheeky today, I’m not sure I approve.”

Her eyebrow quirked. “How unfortunate, considering I learned it from you.”

The two siblings exchanged a look that sent Rose into giggles, which she hastily tried to cover up as a cough while Mycroft merely smirked.

“You really are quite ridiculous. I suppose that’s what makes you somewhat endearing to those you love you. I’ll ask Sherlock.”

“My! You’re so terrible!” Rose wasn’t able to cover up this burst of giggles. “You’re positively ruthless in your battle armor.”

Mycroft frowned. “My what?”

“Battle armor. That pin-striped suit you have on. Sherlock and I decided that was your battle armor, because you always wore it for the most serious government meetings and when you want to intimidate people, which are sometimes the same event.”

“Often the same event,” he corrected. “So what you’re saying is you and Sherlock pawed through my wardrobe at some point and deduced things from it?”

“Yep. We were bored. Completely Sherlock’s idea, but it was great fun I have to admit,” Rose smiled. “I admittedly don’t remember all of it, but Sherlock likely does, unless he deleted it.”

“How long ago was this exactly?”

“That business trip you took when I was seven? To Geneva I believe it was. That’s when we did it, and a whole lot of other things.”

Mycroft frowned. “I remember that vividly.”

Rose gulped a bit, blushing bright red. Not only did Mycroft remember it, but it sounded as though he didn’t look back on that particular memory fondly.

“On to a different topic then. What would you like to do for your birthday? It’s not that far from now and twenty is a big year I suppose,” Mycroft mused. “So what would you like to do?”

Rose paused for a moment, a look of confusion coming over face. Sherlock always planned her parties, or at least he had since after their mother had passed away. Yet here he was, Mycroft, of all the people in the world, wanting to know what she’d like to do. What was worse is that she didn’t have an answer for him!

“I don’t know, I hadn’t really thought about it much to be honest. I mean, hooray I’m getting older and all that,” she said hesitantly. “Maybe just a nice dinner? Someone cook for me for a change?”

"No fuss at all, just an intimate dinner then?”

Good god, was Mycroft _encouraging_ her to have a party? Her brain was practically misfiring at the very thought of it.

Mycroft watched the emotions flicker across her face with great interest. She was rubbish at hiding them, always had been. Then suddenly… _damn_ her, she knew! She _knew_.

“You want me to have a party. More than that, you want to _give_ me a party,” she said softly. “Because I wasn’t here last year…” Rose’s voice trailed off and she began blinking rapidly.

Her much put upon oldest brother mentally sighed. She was not going to cry. She simply was _not_ because he was _not_ going to hug her in a restaurant. There would be no hugging in public restaurants, he wouldn’t allow it; period.

The two of them sat there in silence as Rose forced her tears under control and Mycroft waited uncomfortably for her to do so. Finally she managed to do just that. “You don’t have to keep saying sorry,” she whispered. “You really don’t My. Please don’t feel some odd sense of obligation to make things up to me and thus endure a beastly party because you feel it’s your duty.”

Oh how Mycroft _hated_ it when she could deduce him so blasted easily like that. Hated it, loathed it, and despised it.

“You don’t make it hard Mycroft,” she murmured, seemingly reading his thoughts. “You really don’t. I know you’re called the Iceman in your circles, or some circles of less desirable human beings at any rate. Don’t throw me a huge party because you owe it to me. Throw me one because you want to, just because. In fact, do just that. Plan a party for me on my birthday and keep everything a surprise. Guest list, food, cake, everything. I don’t want to hear a word of it.”

“You don’t ask for much, do you?” Mycroft grumbled half-heartedly.

“No, though I can give you a list of expensive items you could purchase me for my birthday. Unless you’ve already got something picked out. Just in case you don’t, I need more jewelry. Loads of jewelry. And more films and gift cards to my favorite shops and everything else you can possibly imagine. Just deduce it; I know you’ll figure it out!” Rose announced happily.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Alright, leave the details to me, but not even one _look_ of displeasure at what I plan. Understand?”

She gave him a bright grin. “I agree! Additionally, I’ve got news for you that you’ll probably be, very, very thrilled about.”

An eyebrow quirked. “Oh, do tell, sister mine. I’ll pretend it’s possible that something important has happened and am unaware of it.”

“You are seriously no fun sometimes,” she scolded. “Anyway, I got a job. Hooray, right? I can pay my whole rent all by myself soon!”

“You already have a job at your studio. What other job could you possibly have, or have time for?” Mycroft inquired. The idea of her being completely independent financially was a good one, he had to admit, but he wouldn’t push her into it before she was ready.

“Lestrade hired me on to continue the stuff I’ve been doing for volunteer hours! Isn’t that great? Pay isn’t bad, hours are good, won’t interfere with dance, and I can take time off for competitions and related travel when I need to,” Rose told him. “First official day is tomorrow. Great, huh?”

“So long as you don’t work yourself half to death, I pose no objection,” Mycroft decided. After all, things would merely continue on just as they had been. “I’ll be instructing Sherlock to look out for your wellbeing. You’re not allowed to overwork yourself.”

Rose waved her hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, promises, promises. I’m actually really excited about it. I never thought he’d ever want to hire me on or even have me around at all.”

“Well, he’s seen you at your worst and at your best, so clearly he’s discerned that you’re not always an insufferable, law-breaking, rabble rousing brat. Pity; he’s wrong.” Mycroft gave her a self- satisfied smirk. He enjoyed teasing her more than he’d ever admit. Her reaction to such ribbings was always amusing, ranging from genuine outrage to sticking out her tongue at him.

“Very original Rose, and very mature,” he murmured when she responded with an eye-roll. “Eat your lunch before it goes cold, brat.”

\-------------------------------

Greg looked at his mobile for the fifth time that morning. Sighing heavily when he saw the time, he scrolled through the contact list and selected an entry.

“Hello, this is Rose. I’m busy dancing, so leave me a message and I’ll ring you back when I can! Ta!”

He waited for the recording noise to go off before speaking. “Rose, its Greg. It’s nearly 8:15 and you’re never late. Please get in touch. I’m not upset,” he added. “Just worried. Seriously, call me kid.”

Ten minutes later, with no words from his young employee, Lestrade was just about to call Sherlock when he heard someone enter the department. His jaw dropped when he caught sight of Rose. Her hair was mussed; she was half covered in mud, and looked soaked to the bone. Without a word, Rose practically stomped all the way to his office and set their usual coffee drinks on his desk. After flopping into a chair, she crossed her arms on top of the desk and laid her head on them.

Rather shocked at her appearance, Greg was still trying to formulate a verbal response to her arrival when Rose spoke first. “Am I fired? Can I go home now?” The words almost came out as a whine and it made him smile a bit.

“No, you aren’t fired. Sit up, drink your coffee and tell me what the hell happened to you,” Greg told her, nudging her arm gently. “God, you’re soaked aren’t you? Ever heard of umbrellas? We sort of need those a lot here, you know.”

Rose sat up and seized her coffee, holding on with both hands. “Don’t be mean. I’m having a horrible day.”

Greg couldn’t stop himself from laughing. “I can tell. I was getting worried; I nearly called your brother. Why didn’t you answer your mobile?”

She took a long, fortifying drink from her coffee before even bothering to answer. “All right, here’s what happened. I slept through my alarm; I had like two minutes to get ready to leave. I threw this dress on- brand new, by the way. Trying to look all professional or something now that I’m an employee--”

“Professional or something?” Greg echoed.

“Don’t interrupt Greg, it’s rude, and I’m not in the mood for rude,” Rose announced. She scowled darkly when he laughed, but continued on with her tale of woe. “So I dressed and grabbed the nearest pair of heels, threw on my jacket and took off running for the tube. Only when I got to the tube I realized I didn’t have my lunch, my purse, my mobile, and no money at all.”

“Rose Holmes, did you steal these coffees?” Greg asked, giving her a stern look.

“That’s what you’re worried about? Don’t be anymore stupid than you have to be Greg. Louise was working and paid for them,” Rose replied. “Anyway, I was standing there at the tube and started to cry, why I don’t know, but a very nice woman paid for me. She called me little. I’m short, not little. But I was really grateful so I didn’t correct her.”

Greg laughed again. “You _are_ little. I’m practically twice your age, so you’re officially _little_ in my book.” He pulled himself together after a moment and if looks could kill, Rose would have buried him a dozen times over by now.

“I get off the tube and it starts raining and I don’t have an umbrella. It’s a really long way to walk here when it’s raining- cold rain no less- and you don’t have an umbrella. But it got worse. I slipped on the pavement and fell into a mud puddle. Fell. In. Mud puddle. If Mycroft had been around, he would have washed my mouth out, because I did that much cursing,” Rose admitted.

“Let me guess. You made it to the coffee shop, Louise sort of tried to dry you off, bought our coffee out of the goodness of her heart- remind me to thank her for that, by the way- and then you got soaked again walking up here?” Greg finished.

“Exactly. I just… Why is my life a comedy of errors? It’s not even nice! And its bloody December, I mean, why, why is raining buckets in December? I think the universe hates me.” Rose gave a dramatic huff and slumped down in the chair.

“Well, you poor pitiful little thing,” Greg responded, trying to sound sympathetic while grinning with amusement. When Rose looked like she might burst into tears, his grin disappeared. “Alright, none of that drama. No tears. There’s no crying in the homicide division.”

That made her grin. “Like there’s no crying in baseball?” The confused look on his face made her laugh, and it felt _so_ good to laugh at his confusion and her whole rotten morning.

“That’s better,” he decided when Rose’s fit of giggles subsided. “I imagine you don’t want to spend the rest of the day looking like you were attacked by a mud monster and I may have a solution. At least a part of one. I’ve got an extra button-up around here for the nights I don’t get to go home and you can take part of your outfit off and wear that.”

Rose stared at him for a moment. “Greg. It’s a dress. You don’t just take part of a dress off, it’s sewn together!”

The detective-inspector blushed a bit. “Er, right. Let me see what I can do, I’ll be right back.” He left his grumpy assistant in his office and went in search of trousers for her, returning some ten minutes later.

“What the hell are those?!” she exclaimed, looking at the overly large pair of sweat pants Greg was holding. He’d retrieved them from the workout and training area in the building and thought them a perfect solution. “You are a mouthy thing today, aren’t you? Good thing I like you or you’d be sacked,” he teased.

“Being “mouthy” is hardly the worst thing I’ve done to you,” Rose laughed, blushing just a bit.

“That’s true,” he admitted, thinking back on their run-ins prior to the crime scene debacle. “This is all I have for you, kid; you’ll just have to make do.”

Rose let out a very woeful sigh. “Make do and look like a complete idiot.”

“That’d make a nice change,” Greg said thoughtfully. “A Holmes looking like an idiot. That never happens and it’ll make my day to see it.”

Rose groaned and grabbed the offensive pants and the button-up. “Text Sherlock and tell him to bring me some trousers and a blouse immediately. Please make the urgency of the situation known to him,” she ordered before wandering off to change.

‘Your sister met with a puddle and needs clothing.’

‘Explain. SH’

‘Rose wants you to bring her clothes. It’s urgent.’

‘Why is it urgent? Is she naked? SH’

‘No, of course not!’

‘Then clearly it’s not urgent. SH’

Rolling his eyes at the consulting detective, Lestrade put his mobile away and got back to work, managing just barely to keep from laughing hysterically when Rose reappeared. When she stuck her tongue out at him, however, Greg gave into the deep belly laughs he’d been holding back.

\--------------------------------

A few hours later, Lestrade waved Rose into his office. “Since you haven’t got a lunch I thought I’d order extra takeaway and share. You like Thai?”

Rose nodded and sat down. “I just starting to feel peckish, so that’s perfect timing. Thanks! I take back all the awful things I’ve thought about you today… and other days.”

“Today, I’ll give you,” he agreed. “But what other days? And do I want to know these awful thoughts?” Greg asked, passing her a plate.

“Probably not, but I take them all back. You’re in my good graces again,” Rose assured him with a smile.

“Well thank the lord for that!” Greg gave her a wink before digging into his meal. The office was silent for a few minutes while both of them began filling their bellies.

“Christmas is right around the corner,” Rose suddenly said. “Just two weeks away in fact. What are you doing for Christmas?”

God how he hated that question! That was the worst question when your answer was nothing. “I don’t have any plans,” Lestrade admitted. “And don’t you dare say “Oh, how sad!” and give me a pitiful look.”

“Oh, I’m so glad!” Rose exclaimed. She flashed him a bright grin.

“You’re glad I haven’t got plans for the holidays?” Greg questioned, confusion written all over his face.

Rose nodded, continuing to smile. “Want to spend Christmas with us? We’re going out to the country house and it’s really lovely there. Very relaxing. I’m going to cook and I’m really a fantastic cook. Ask John, he’ll tell you.”

Somehow it didn’t surprise him that the Holmes family had a country house. Knowing them it was more like a vast estate than a modest house. “Who is ‘we’ and where is this country house?”

“My brothers, John and I. Maybe Mycroft’s PA, Anthea, too but I’m not positive about that. It’ll be really cozy and nice, you should come! It’s only a couple hours away. You and I could go together so you know how to get there,” Rose offered.

“I’ll not come if it’s a pity invite,” Greg said firmly. “I don’t want to be the sorry house guest no one wants but invited out of some feeling of obligation.”

Rose shook her head emphatically. “Not a pity invite. I was going to invite you a couple weeks back but got sidetracked with getting in extra practice time before the competition. It slipped my mind, honestly. Things were chaotic.”

“I won’t be in the way? No one else will mind?” Greg asked before taking another bite of his lunch.

“No, of course not! There’s plenty of room at the house for you, promise.”

“I accept then,” he decided, giving the young woman a grin. “Can I ask you something?” When Rose nodded, Greg continued on. “Is Sherlock and Mycroft decorating for the holidays as funny as I’m imagining it to be?”

Rose giggled and nodded. “It’s hilarious! They only do it for me but they aren’t quiet about their distaste for it. Mycroft actually _whines_ about it.”

Greg laughed loudly. “That I would pay to see!”

“Lucky for you, we aren’t asking for more than the pleasure of your company,” Rose quipped. “We’ll work out the travel details later on. Right now, I’m going to ignore you and be very ill-mannered about how I devour this tasty lunch!”

\----------------------------------------------

The days before Rose’s twentieth birthday were flying by, both for her and for those anxious to buy her lovely things. John had found himself wondering for a few days now what exactly he should get her and thought he finally had some good ideas. Intending to run them by Sherlock, he headed into the sitting room to find his flatmate intently examining the screen of a laptop. “Is that Rose’s laptop?”

Sherlock sighed heavily, giving his friend a non-verbal admonishment for his stupidity before adding the verbal portion. “These large pink ballet slippers on the cover weren’t enough of a clue for you, John? And here I thought your deduction abilities had been improving of late; pity.”

“Dick,” John replied, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t curse around the baby,” Sherlock responded and then proceeded to wince. He was certain he’d broken the habit of referring to Rose that way out loud several years ago. Not to mention she wasn’t even in the room! He immediately deduced that her impending birthday was making him nostalgic, which was rather appalling.

John looked over at his friend and smiled. “That’s how you think of her isn’t it? Even now.”

“Nope.” He’d responded too quickly and knew it, too.

“Liar,” John laughed, shaking his head. He felt a bit triumphant, knowing without a doubt that the genius was lying through his teeth. Rarely did John have such luck!

“Okay, Mycroft and I do continue to refer to Rose in that manner every now and then,” Sherlock admitted with a grumble. “Go on and laugh if you cannot manage to control yourself John.”

“It’s sweet, really it is,” John replied, grinning when Sherlock groaned. “And something I’ll never understand. Harry and I were far too close in age for me to think of her like that and we never really got on in the first place.”

“Mmm.”

“So what are you doing with her laptop anyway? She won’t be pleased you’ve got it,” John pointed out.

“I’m examining her browser history so I can select something to get her for her birthday,” Sherlock explained.

“That makes sense, but you could have just asked her.”

“What’s the fun in that John? Then she knows I’m purchasing something from her list and it isn’t as much of a surprise,” Sherlock pointed out. “Dull.”

“Well, since you’re already at it, give me a few ideas, will you?”

Sherlock heaved a big sigh. “Yes, John. Now be quiet; and also make tea.”

John rolled his eyes and went into the kitchen to make the requested tea, thinking that a good cuppa would be just about perfect right then.

\--------------------------------

Rose vaguely heard the jiggle of keys in her front door as she drifted in that place between being asleep and awake. She kept her eyes closed and cuddled deeper under the duvet, willing whoever was attempting to get into her apartment would go away. Considering only her brother had keys, there was no reason to panic and every reason to continue sleeping.

“Sherlock,” John hissed as a tray rattled. “Hold the door for me.”

“This is an asinine idea John,” Sherlock grumbled, but dutifully held the door.

“It’s a lovely idea, provided you don’t wake her up first.”

The two men quietly entered Rose’s bedroom, at least as quietly as two men trying to walk softly while carrying a large tray could be anyway.

“She’s awake,” Sherlock announced with a sigh. He could always tell when she was trying to pretend she was asleep.

“Damn it Sherlock! I wanted to surprise her, not wake her up because you hit the tray with the door,” John scolded.

“You two aren’t as quiet as you think you are,” Rose murmured, her voice still heavy with sleep. “Go on, pretend I’m asleep.”

John gave Sherlock a _look_ and with a sigh the consulting detective crossed the room over to her bed. “Wake up. It’s morning.” He promptly poked her shoulder through the duvet. John promptly swore under his breath.

“No, I’ll stay asleep, thank you,” Rose decided, not even opening her eyes. “That was a poor attempt at waking me up. Try again.”

“I don’t like playing pretend Rose.”

“I seem to remember you playing pretend plenty of times when I gave tea parties.” Even with her eyes closed closed, she could imagine the look of pure loathing on his face.

“How’s this for a wake up then?” Sherlock yanked the covers off, rolled her over, and gave her behind a hearty smack.

“Ow!” Rose yelped, a hand flying back to cover her pajama clad bottom. “Hate you Sherlock!”

“Hate you too. Happy birthday,” Sherlock replied glibly. “You can move your hand and roll over now. In fact, I think John would appreciate that.”

“I don’t know why I bother. You two are bloody hopeless, you know that?” John grumbled. “Happy birthday, I’m sorry your brother is a moron, and I brought you breakfast. Can you officially wake up now Rose?”

“Oh, I’m very much awake,” Rose assured him, sitting up on her bed. “And Sherlock _is_ a moron.”

The brother in question gave her a hard look before pouting. “Don’t call names, we brought you breakfast.”

“I made the breakfast, he put it on the tray, I carried the tray, and he hit me with the door coming in here,” John said. He waited for her settle in before placing the tray on her bed and kissing her cheek. “Happy birthday, love.”

Rose giggled and kissed John’s cheek in return. “Why is there only one breakfast here? I don’t want to eat by myself! Go get your own breakfasts and come back. Go on!”

“I’ll have tea,” Sherlock decided, making himself comfortable on her bed.

“Oh, you’ll have tea, will you? You’d best come get it yourself or I’m going to pour it on your head when I come back in here,” John threatened.

An eyebrow quirked. “Are you seriously threatening me?”

John shrugged. “Test me and find out.”

“Good for you, John! Bravo! Put your foot down with him, he’s a terrible brat,” Rose stated in a serious tone before having a fit of giggles as John began laughing.

With an exaggerated sigh meant to conjure some sympathy, Sherlock got up and headed back to his own flat for his tea.

“Anything else you need Rose, or did I get everything?” John asked with a smile. “You’re the birthday girl, I’ll happily wait on you.”

“Bring the rest of the coffee with you. Or, better yet, just make up another cuppa the way I like it, please?”

John gave her a salute. “Yes ma’am,” he teased, giving her a wink.

“If I had known my life was going to be this much fun when I came back, I’d have come home sooner,” Rose mused before digging into her breakfast with gusto.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More birthday fun coming up in the next chapter! Thank you so much to everyone who reads and leaves a comment or kudos, I appreciate them all!


	27. A Very Holmesian Birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wildflower gets a turn next and then on to a Holmesian Christmas here in Rose Blooms! Enjoy!

Several hours after having her breakfast in bed, a sleek black car pulled up to the curb and stopped; a collective gasp was heard inside the vehicle. “This is one of the most exclusive places in London,” Louise commented, gripping Rose’s hand. “What luck for your birthday dinner! Mycroft went all out, didn’t he?”

Rose smiled brightly at her best friend. “I’ve wanted to come here for ages, but I don’t make nearly enough money to afford it. I’m not surprised he remembered that, but I’m very pleased he did.”

“I’m not certain how many people do make the kind of money to eat here regularly. Looks quite impressive from out here, doesn’t it?” Mrs. Hudson asked as they began exiting the vehicle. “Oh look dear, there’s your brother already waiting!” She waved at Mycroft who was standing in the entry way of the restaurant.

“He’s not going to wave back, but don’t take offense. He’s just silly like that,” Rose assured her.

“Sherlock, help me haul these gifts in, yeah?” John called. “Spoiled little thing you are, Rose Holmes, if ever I saw one.” He gave the birthday girl a wink before handing Sherlock several packages.

“I’m trying to decide if she’s worth all this fuss,” Sherlock muttered, taking in the number of packages.

Arm in arm Louise, Rose and Mrs. Hudson entered the restaurant, leaving the boys to wrangle the gifts.

“Ah! Mr. Holmes! How nice to have you back so soon,” A lovely woman commented. The hostess crossed the waiting area, rather enthusiastic to see Mycroft.

“Hello Renee,” he greeted the woman. They exchanged pleasantries, reverting to French to accommodate the hostess, as it was her native language.

“A birthday! That’s marvelous!” Renee exclaimed. Mycroft introduced the members of the motley entourage and it didn’t escape anyone’s notice how proud he was to introduce Rose, despite his best attempts at hiding it.

“We’re so honored you’ve come here for your birthday. Mr. Holmes is one of our best customers; it’ll be a treat to have his family here as well. Come, I’ll show you all to the private room we’ve set aside for your special day!”

“Sometimes I think your brother is the coolest person I know,” Louise whispered. “Makes it all look so easy, charming people and speaking so many languages, ready at any moment to turn around and cut people. I’ve known him for ages, but it’s still really impressive.”

Rose snorted in an attempt to not burst out laughing. “You make him sound like some sort of gangster, Lou. He _so_ much higher class than that.”

“But if he was a gangster, which one would he be? Not Cagney, god no. Too working class, dreadful voice, wouldn’t fit Mycroft at all,” Louise mused.

“Warren Beatty?” Rose suggested.

Louise gasped. “Oh, that’s a brilliant one! They certainly dress alike. But I’m really thinking he’s Bogie. Taller and a bit more polished voice-wise, but definitely a Bogie. Except he doesn’t have a Bacall. Sad,” Louise decided.

Rose shook her head. “He doesn’t want a Bacall; too much of a liability.”

Louise scoffed. “Well then he’s mad because Bacall was- _is_ \- lovely.”

“Louise, you never change do you?” Mycroft asked with a long-suffering sigh. “Why is it we tolerate your presence again?”

“Well if you didn’t work so hard to hear everything I’d be much easier to tolerate. Obviously,” Louise retorted, attempting to mimic his tone.

“We tolerate her presence because she’s my twin,” Rose said. “Remember? You dubbed us Double Trouble.”

“You were trouble,” Mycroft retorted. “Still are. Double has got rather cheeky of late. Not certain I approve.”

Louise giggled and sat down beside Rose, while Mrs. Hudson sat on her left.

“Family times are wonderful, aren’t they?” Mrs. Hudson reflected. “They really enjoy it, even if they act like they don’t. I’ve grown used to it, though Rose here has shook things up quite a bit since she arrived.”

“I was beginning to wonder if I’d come to the right place,” Lestrade said as he entered the room. “Nice place. Going to cost me a month’s pay isn’t it?”

“No of course not,” Rose hurried to assure him. “My’s paying.”

All eyes turned to Mycroft as he promptly choked on his water.

“Ignore him, he is paying. Go sit by John,” Rose directed. “I’m so glad you came! I didn’t have a clue who was invited. Mycroft’s done a lovely job so far.”

“He has in fact outdone himself. I wasn’t aware that was even possible,” Sherlock commented dismissively.

“What’s your problem?” Greg asked, giving his friend a look.

“Sherlock’s a bit bent out of shape. He always plans my parties and isn’t a fan of being usurped by My,” Rose explained.

Before long the servers arrived and began taking orders and filling glasses of champagne. “Two glasses each and no more,” Mycroft warned the girls sternly. “Are you listening?” He scowled darkly when the girls saluted in response.

Dinner itself passed pleasantly, or at least as pleasantly as a Holmes birthday party dinner could go. Mycroft was thankful time and again that he’d secured the private party room and did his best to ignore the volume, giggles, and generally overwhelming merriment of the occasion. Things increased two fold when it was time to open presents and Mycroft was reminded just how loud and ridiculous his sister could be. Squeals and hugs all went around the table as she opened gifts from Lestrade (a gift card for the local bookstore), Mrs. Hudson (an at-home spa kit) and one from Louise’s parents (a pearl bracelet).

“I think I’ll open the one from Sherlock next,” Rose decided. She grinned brightly as he handed over the perfectly wrapped package. All that perfection was quickly done away with as she ripped the paper off and opened the box, letting out another squeal.

“I’ve been wishing for these shoes for ages!” Rose exclaimed, hugging the adorable vintage styled pink pumps to her chest. “How did you know?” Several seconds later, as Sherlock smirked, it dawned on her how he might have come by that information. “Leave my laptop alone Sherlock Holmes!”

“Unlikely,” he murmured. “I found out some very fascinating things about you Rose. You have rather varied tastes, some predictable, and you’re a bit naughty too. Some of the things you’ve been looking at… Quite disturbing really.”

Louise gaped at her best friend. “Is there something you’re not telling me? You have to tell me everything, that’s the rules Rose. We made those rules when we were six and I take them very seriously.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “There’s nothing I’m not telling you and I’m well aware of our rules you silly thing. I take them seriously too.” She gave Louise a bit of a gentle push and smiled at her. The smile was quickly replaced with a look of outrage when her eldest brother spoke.

“Oh god, tell me she’s not looking at pornography,” Mycroft begged, his face practically ashen.

“Of course not!” Rose exclaimed. “Sherlock, shut up already, will you?”

Sherlock shook his head. “No, not that, lingerie.”

Rose looked positively livid and attempted to stare him down despite the significant height difference. “Bras are not lingerie Sherlock,” she hissed.

“They are when they stop resembling a bra or serving the basic function of one,” he said sternly. “Completely inappropriate Rose.”

Despite the fact that she was blushing a most vivid shade of red, Rose gave her brother an imperious look. “Because you totally know what one looks like in real life and how to work it, don’t you?”

“Oh burn,” Louise whispered in an almost reverent manner. “That was a bit impressive Rose. Mean, but impressive.”

Sherlock scowled darkly at Rose and was just about to respond with a biting retort when he was cut off by the eldest Holmes.

“And this is why I never take you children anywhere nice,” Mycroft quipped. “You never seem able to behave yourselves and things quickly spiral into the realm of embarrassing nonsense. Congratulations on proving that you’re both still completely juvenile and ill-behaved. Though admittedly, Rose makes an excellent point.”

Louise giggled with abandon. “This is why I love your family Rose. Constant hilarity, truly.”

“Would you like to have them, then? I’ll sell both my brothers to you for a single cupcake in fact,” Rose grumbled as she shot Sherlock another dirty look.

She smiled and then gave Rose a _look_. “I think your Detective-Inspector is a bit concerned, or possibly frightened.” She gestured in Greg’s direction.

“He’s not “mine”,” Rose responded before looking over at the man in question. “Oh dear, I think we’ve broken Greg.”

Greg was staring at the three siblings as if unable to mentally process the conversation that had just taken place, his mouth hanging open in shock. Finally he looked at John, hoping for some sort of… something.

“They’re like this all the time,” John admitted with a shrug. “You get used to it for the most part. Definitely worse when Mycroft comes around though. These two unite against him and they all have a go at one another.”

“Ever seen that show, _The Twilight Zone_?” Greg asked.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” John responded with a nod. “Fun show actually.”

“It’s like that at Baker Street all the time isn’t it?”

John laughed and shook his head. “That describes it perfectly, mate.”

Just then the servers arrived back in the room with their desserts, putting an end to Mycroft’s misery.

“Ah, here is our dessert. Thank god,” he mumbled. “Enough presents for now. I’ve had about as much merrymaking as I can stand for a single evening.”

\----------------------------------

Mycroft did in fact pay the entire bill for the entire party without so much as a blink at the total. Rose, on the other hand, had been close enough to hear the total and very nearly passed out! She gave Louise a hug and saw her into a cab and then turned to Lestrade.

“So… Reconsidering coming for Christmas with the lunatics I call my brothers?” Rose asked, looking a bit sad at the prospect.

“That was honestly one of the most interesting evenings I’ve had in a long time,” Greg admitted. “I was more embarrassed for you than anything. Sherlock still has a long way to go when it comes to social interaction.”

Rose shrugged. “It happens. I know he was just trying to be funny and add to the levity but… he’s Sherlock. So it immediately becomes awkward and embarrassing, for me anyway.”

“I’ll still come if the invite is still open,” Greg replied. “I’d much rather spend Christmas with some lunatics than by myself. Besides, John will be there and he’s normal. You’ll be there and you’re slightly more normal than your brothers, so it’ll even out.”

An eyebrow quirked. “Slightly more normal? Nice Greg, nice. Time for another tiny macchiato.”

“You’re cruel Rose, very cruel,” he laughed. “Happy birthday kid.” Greg gave her a hug before exiting the restaurant to find his vehicle.

“Well that was all kinds of interesting, wasn’t it?” Rose commented as she climbed into Mycroft’s car a few moments later with Mrs. Hudson, John and Sherlock. “You had lovely intentions My and I was very impressed by your efforts. Less impressed with the other one.” She nodded her head in the direction of Sherlock and was surprised to see a bit of a blush creep across his cheeks.

“That was… inappropriate and that wasn’t my intention,” Sherlock mumbled.

“My scolded you, didn’t he?”

The blush got a bit redder.

“It was inappropriate and I was really, really embarrassed. But I love you and I know you. You just wanted to contribute to the fun of the evening and that was what popped into that brilliant mind of yours. You need a filter,” Rose scolded gently. “You don’t actually have to say everything you think of.”

Sherlock scowled but gave a brief nod, acknowledging she was correct, as much as he hated to do so.

“It’s okay. Just try harder next time. I still love you and you’re still my favorite Sherlock in the whole wide world,” Rose told him with a grin.

“Still the fun brother too?”

“Oh Sherlock, for god’s sake!” Mycroft interjected. “When are you going to move past that? You’re an adult now, it’s unbecoming.”

“Probably when it stops bothering you when I say that, because then it will no longer be fun,” Sherlock quipped.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and silence descended on the occupants of the vehicle for the last few moments of the drive back to Baker Street.

“Are you coming up My?” Rose asked when she emerged from the car. “I didn’t get to open my present from you. Or John for that matter.”

“Yes, I’ll come up for a few moments,” he agreed. After retrieving the packages from the vehicle he followed Rose up the stairs and into John and Sherlock’s flat. Mycroft set the present down on the floor near where Rose curled up on the couch.

“I’ve been on this earth two whole decades now,” Rose commented, sounding rather proud. “That’s really cool.”

“And you haven’t even destroyed it yet! I’m in awe of your restraint, little sister,” Sherlock replied, sitting down beside her. He dropped a kiss on top of her head before putting his arm around her.

“Sadly, you’ve also been causing my hairline to recede that entire time,” Mycroft added, sounding tired. He felt _old_. Very old in fact. “Before you open the present I bought you, I must ask that you _not_ pounce on me.”

“He might break. Getting brittle in his old age,” Sherlock quipped.

Rose giggled. “Alright I promise. I won’t pounce on you; I’ll pounce on Sherlock instead, if pouncing must be done.” She reached for the rather large package and began ripping the paper away. As the very top of the gift was revealed she let out a gasp and aggressively ripped off the rest of the wrappings to reveal an original Teddy in a collector’s case. “Oh my god, is that seriously an original, My? First issue original Teddy after Roosevelt?”

“It is. Wasn’t easy to find but I decided you were worth the effort,” Mycroft said, giving her a little smile. He was completely unsurprised when she bounced across the room to where he sat in Sherlock’s chair and hugged him tightly.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! It’ll go right next to Icky!” Rose assured him, kissing his cheek.

“Icky? You have a bear named Icky?” John asked with a laugh.

“For about two weeks when she was a year old she kept trying to call me Mikey, like Mother did, but it ended up being Icky, instead. Not i-key, actually Icky,” Mycroft explained. “I eventually got her to stop that, but she refused to rename the bear I’d given her for her birthday that year.”

“I ensured she wouldn’t rename it,” Sherlock added, grinning brightly. “I kept calling it that until she refused to call it anything else.”

“Well that’s one of my very favorite bears and this one is going to go in the special cupboard right next to it. It’s wonderful Mycroft, thank you so much!” Rose hugged and kissed him again before setting the bear on the coffee table.

“I’ll take my leave then,” Mycroft decided. “You’re very welcome my dear. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” He hugged her tightly for a long moment, still struggling to come to terms with the fact that his little girl was twenty now, and really not so little anymore.

“Love you,” Rose murmured, standing on tip toes to kiss his cheek. “Thanks again.” She followed him onto the landing and waved as he exited the building. Entering the flat once again, she sat back down on the couch.

John handed her the gift from him and smiled a bit sheepishly. “Before you open it, just know that I didn’t get on your laptop and look at anything. I did, however, benefit from Sherlock’s invasion of your privacy and I’m sorry.”

Rose gave him a smile. “It’s alright, I forgive you.” Once again she discarded the pretty wrappings and looked inside the box. “Oh my god, these are the cutest shoes I’ve ever seen in my life!” She pulled out a pair of purple flats with an adorable gray bird on the toes.

“There’s more in there, keep going,” John encouraged, giving her a bright grin. He watched with pleasure as she pulled out two new dresses and exclaimed over them both.

“These are perfect for work! Still so me but also more professional too,” Rose murmured. One had a navy skirt with a cream colored blouse with a cowl neck; the other was an adorable black and white checked pattern with cool buttons.

She grinned at the clothing, examining it closely, before turning to John with a brilliant smile. “You spent far too much on me, John Watson. This must have cost you a small fortune! Just one would have been enough, or a nice book and pretty scarf or something. I feel so spoiled!”

John smiled and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “As you should. Besides, who else would I spend my money on, you silly thing?”

“Yourself for one, a nice date with Sarah for another,” Rose pointed out. She laughed when John waved his hand dismissively.

“I thought it would be fun to spoil my best girl for her birthday,” he admitted. “Got a bit carried away perhaps, but well worth it.”

Rose blushed just a bit. “You’re very sweet. So I’m your best girl, hm?”

This time it was John’s turn to blush a bit as he nodded. “Yeah, you are. You’re a very special girl Rose.”

Immediately Rose wrapped her arms around him and kissed his cheek. “You’re special too John,” she whispered in his ear. Though she’d only been home since August, already she couldn’t imagine life without John in it, fussing over her on a regular basis.

“I’m going to borrow your room Sherlock and try one of these on!” Rose decided. Without waiting for Sherlock’s reply she was up off the couch and disappeared into the bedroom to change. She emerged several minutes later in the pink pumps Sherlock had bought her and the navy and cream dress.

“You’ll look very professional,” Sherlock decided. “Boring, but professional.” Deciding he’d had enough conversation for the present, he reached for his violin and began to play, completely ignoring his sister and flatmate.

“Oh that does look nice,” John agreed. “Give us a twirl.” He smiled when Rose did just that, deciding that he had very good taste indeed in clothing. Who’d have thought, given his own wardrobe?

“Dance with me,” Rose said suddenly.

“What?”

“Dance with me! Sherlock’s providing us with music, I’m wearing a pretty dress, let’s dance!” Without waiting for a response, Rose tugged on John’s hands until he did as she asked and got up from the couch to take her in his arms.

John held her close and they began to waltz to the music, gliding around the sitting room floor, the smile of pure delight on Rose’s face going straight to his heart. Oh yes, John Watson, you are completely wrapped around this girl’s finger, he thought to himself. Surprisingly enough, he didn’t really mind it even a bit. In fact, it felt just right.


	28. Getting There is Half the Fun

With a suitcase full of clothing and gifts in the backseat of his car, Greg Lestrade pulled up along the curb of Baker Street. It was ‘Christmas Eve Eve’, as Rose had continually referred to it and, finally having tied up all the loose ends at the Yard for a few days, Greg was ready to depart for a Christmas holiday. It was certain to be a Christmas he wouldn’t forget.

Turning off the engine, Greg exited the vehicle and entered the building. It wasn’t hard to figure out which flat belonged to Rose, one- he’d been to Sherlock’s plenty of times and two- no one else was likely to have the volume of their ridiculous music so high. In order to be heard over the song, he pounded on the door and was gratified when the music stopped.

“Hi!” Rose greeted upon opening the door. “Come in, I’m just about ready.”

“Is that what you kids call music today, all that racket?” Greg asked. “What happened to all your classic stuff? Those crooners, I mean.”

“Oh I’ve got that too. Dean Martin currently takes top place in number of songs on my ipod,” Rose assured him while tying the laces on her bright red sneakers. “Believe it or not I was actually listening to one of the songs for an upcoming competition. It’s called…” She grabbed the paper near her ipod speakers. “Take Me on the Floor by The Veronicas. I rather like them I think, so I’ll have to find more of their music.”

Greg smiled as Rose fluttered about her sitting room, tidying up loose ends before shoving a small stack of books in his face and handing him a pen.

“I bought these with the gift card you gave me, so now you’ve got to inscribe them so I always remember who gave them to me and when,” Rose told him.

The detective-inspector looked through the books, four in total. There was an annotated version of _Pride and Prejudice_ , two books by Louisa May Alcott, and _The Heathen_ by someone whose name he couldn’t pronounce.

“Polish writer,” Rose said when he held it up with a questioning look. “Recent translation. The clerk at the store said her works are quite like George Eliot and I like her so I thought I’d give it a go.”

“And what am I supposed to write in here?” he asked, opening the first book.

“Hmm. ‘To the very best assistant in the entire world. I don’t know what I would do without you!’ Then put your name and date. That ought to work,” Rose suggested with a giggle.

Rolling his eyes, Greg picked up the pen. “To the most normal of the Holmeses on her 20th birthday,” he said aloud as he wrote.

“Then add ‘Love, your boss,’ or ‘Hugs, from your boss,’” Rose teased, giving him an impish look. She pouted when he simply signed his name and added the date of her birthday. “How dull.”

“Are you ready yet? And are John and Sherlock coming with us?” Greg asked as he finished signing the other books.

“Yes, but I need help getting things down to your car. John and Sherlock went on ahead; Mycroft sent a car a couple hours ago. My’s been there since this morning, or at least he better have been! He’s supposed to get all the groceries for our meals.”

Greg handed her back the books and watched as she carefully put them away on one of several bookshelves. “Speaking of John, isn’t that his jumper you’re wearing?”

Rose nodded. “His favorite one, I think. He’s really attached to this oatmeal color. It’s very warm and cuddly. I borrow his jumpers quite a bit and he always complains about it. He says it’s stealing, I say its borrowing, but that’s just semantics.”

“You do it just to annoy him don’t you?” Greg asked.

The twenty-year-old smirked. “Of course! Though they are always very nice to wear, warm and soft and they smell nice. But it’s all sorts of fun to annoy him so that’s the main reason I do it. I keep telling him ‘But John, I’m cold!’ or ‘John, I’m out of clothes, I haven’t done laundry yet!’”

Greg laughed and shook his head. “Alright jumper-thief, grab your things and we’ll be on our way. Make certain you lock your door! Check Sherlock’s door as well, I swear he never even locks it.”

Rose turned out the lights and locked the door behind her before stopping briefly to check Sherlock and John’s door. It was locked so she followed Greg out onto the street. “Can I drive?” she asked. “I’m actually a very good driver.”

“Are you licensed?” Greg asked, giving her a stern look. “And don’t roll your eyes at me when you answer. I’m serious.”

Rather than roll her eyes, they narrowed in response. “Greg, of _course_ I’m licensed! Sherlock would be the one to drive without a license on the simple assumption that it’s a car and it’s very clear how all the mechanisms work. Me? Not so much. But I am licensed.” She put her hands on her hips and tried to stare him down as best she could, being quite a bit shorter than he was and made a far less intimidating figure. “So, you gonna let me?”

“Alright, alright,” Greg agreed, getting into the passenger side of the car. “No nonsense or I’ll have your licensed pulled, you hear me?”

“Mmhm.” Rose slid into the driver’s seat and fussed around for a few minutes adjusting the mirrors and the seat. “Always helpful when my feet can actually reach the pedals,” she murmured when the seat was in the correct position. After lowering the steering wheel, she held out her hand for the keys.

“This is how you got your way when you were little, wasn’t it? Tried to be all impressive and demanding, which comes off far more ‘cute’ than intimidating, and they just gave you what you wanted, didn’t they?” Greg asked, handing over the keys.

“Not always. Sherlock, yes; Mycroft, not so much. He wasn’t impressed. After all, Sherlock had broken him in long before I came along.” She turned the key in the ignition, grinning as the engine roared to life. “Oh, that sounds nice. Not that I’d really know. My car knowledge is rather limited to: is it making a strange noise? Has a light come on? Is something leaking? Your engine sounds just fine though.”

“Cars need love and care just like children,” Lestrade murmured, looking anxiously over his shoulder as Rose pulled into traffic. “Treat them right and they’ll always work for you.”

“Just a note, Greg, if you’re ever trying to chat a woman up, I’d avoid that line,” she replied. “Most people find it somewhat offensive when you compare your car to a child. Not me though; I’ve got a brother who dissects eyeballs on the dining table.” Rose shrugged, keeping her attention on the road.

\----------------------------------------

Nearly an hour later, Rose glanced at the clock and groaned. “How can it only have been an hour? We’ve been listening to Queen for forever and a day! Seriously! I like them well enough, but not for an hour and most certainly not for an hour more. We’ve got to find something else to listen to!”

Greg snorted in disapproval. “This is classic Rose. I’m educating you and expanding your horizons!”

“Consider me thoroughly educated and, additionally, exasperated,” Rose grumbled. “Seriously, we need to switch it up. My ipod’s in my purse get it out and we’ll listen to that. Don’t worry; I won’t make you listen to “racket” as you call it. The good stuff! I’ve got Kate Smith, Fred Astaire, Michael Buble, I got loads and loads on there.”

“Alright, alright. You’re whingy today,” Greg murmured, reaching for her purse in the backseat. “Where is it in this big thing? Why do women always have to have such large purses?”

“I dunno, I bought it because it’s pink and polka dotted, the size was irrelevant for the most part,” she admitted. “My ipod’s in the case with my phone.”

“Also polka dotted. There’s a shock.”

“Be nice!” Rose laughed, giving him a quick grin.

Greg pulled out the case in question and popped it open, removing the ipod. As he did so, he caught sight of Rose’s license. Only, upon further inspection, he realized it _wasn’t_ hers. “Pull over for a second, yeah?” he requested in an even tone.

When the car was parked off the road, Greg took out the license and held it up. “Alright, what the hell is this? Who is this person with your face? Nora Charles. With your face.”

Rose sighed heavily. “Well, obviously it’s me Greg. That was my alias. I couldn’t exactly hide from _Mycroft_ of all people under my own name.  What? Why are you frowning? It’s perfectly legit. A real license, the result of a real driving examination.”

The man rolled his eyes. “This is _not_ legal because it’s not your real name. This is now _mine_ , you’re done driving. Unbuckle and out you go,” he ordered sternly.

“Wait!” Rose exclaimed. “That’s completely--”

“No,” Greg cut her off. “Not a word. It’s mine and if I hear any complaining about it, I’ll tell your brothers that you’re still carrying around your fake stuff. They’d love that wouldn’t they?” He took a bit of satisfaction from the horrified look on her face at his threat. “Be a good girl and get your arse out of the car.”

She looked at him for a moment, horror and frustration warring for dominance on her face.

“You have to unbuckle, open the door, and step out,” he instructed. “You’re bright, you can figure out how to exit a vehicle. Go on now.”

She didn’t move.

Greg swore under his breath and then held up a finger. “One…”

“Oh my god, are you _counting_ at me? That’s ridiculous!” Rose said, her eyes going wide. “What are you going to do when you get to three if I don’t move?” He couldn’t possibly be serious.

“Want to find out? That’s two…” Greg quickly hid a chuckle at the squeak of indignation she let out. “Th--” Before he could finish saying ‘three,’ Rose simultaneously unbuckled her seatbelt and exited the vehicle. “That’s what I thought,” he murmured.

“Completely unfair,” Rose whined a bit as Greg exited his side of the car.

“No, it’s not. There’s no way in hell I’m letting you drive around with a false license, or even have it in your possession,” he said firmly.

She scowled and walked around to the other side of the car, sitting down in a huff.

“Aw, cheer up kid. I won’t tell on you,” Greg assured her. “Go on, put your music on. We’ll listen to whatever you’d like.”

She nodded, dropping the topic of her invalid license in favor of listening to Michael Buble.

_An Hour Later_

“That night we met I knew I needed you so,” Greg sang.

Rose chimed in with “And if I had the chance I’d never let you go!”

“So won’t you say you love me?”

“I’ll make you so proud of me!”

“We’ll make ‘em turn their heads.”

“Every place we go!”

“So won’t you please-”

Rose picked up the background singer’s lines, “Be my, be my baby.”

“Be my little baby,” Greg sang along with Michael Buble.

“I want it only say-”

“Say you’ll be my darling.”

“Be my, be my baby!”

“Be my baby now.”

It was Rose’s turn to chime in on the chorus but instead she abruptly paused her ipod. “Look! There it is!” She pointed a ways ahead of them and gave a happy sigh. Sure enough, there was the large red country house. “I can’t remember the last time we had Christmas here. It’s _so_ good to be back.”

Greg looked over at her and smiled. “Thanks for inviting me kid. If you tell anyone we’ve done a Michael Buble duet together, I’ll murder you.”

Rose gave him a look, an eyebrow arching. “Sherlock will solve the crime.”

“That’s alright,” he decided.  “The secret of our duet will still be safe.”

The two shared a look before bursting out laughing as he pulled into the drive and parked the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay and then providing you only a brief update. We had a death in the family this week and finals are right around the corner, so my life has exploded into chaos. Lots of Christmas fun will be on its way soon, I promise!


	29. Christmas Folly I

“WE’RE HERE!” Rose shouted as she exited the car. “Hullo boys, we’re here!”

“Here now, stop all your shouting and help me with the baggage. This one gift is bloody heavy,” Greg called to her. “Come on, you’re my assistant, so come assist me.”

Rose laughed and helped him haul their luggage and gifts towards the door, making quite the motley duo in the process. As she struggled for her keys in her pocket, the front door opened, revealing Mycroft in his usual tweed country attire.

“Can’t leave the waistcoat off for even a day, My?” Rose asked before shoving her purse and a brown bag full of gifts into his arms.

Mycroft paid her no mind and was instead looking over her shoulder. “Detective-Inspector Lestrade. What in god’s name has Rose done now that required you deliver her here?” His look shifted to Rose and it was definitely not a happy look. “Can you not stay out of trouble for five whole minutes?”

“Rose, did you not ask if I could come?” Greg asked, giving the young lady a confused look.

“Why should I? I own a third of this house, I can invite whomever I wish,” Rose announced firmly. “Besides, I sent you a text saying I was inviting a friend, Mycroft.”

“A friend would imply someone like Louise or that fellow you dance with, not--”

“Why can’t Greg be my friend? He likes me! He hired me, he’s very nice and you even invited him to my birthday party. Why can’t he spend Christmas holiday with us?” Rose demanded. Before Mycroft could even reply she dumped her things on the ground and put her hands on her hips.

“You know what? You are just such a grouch Mycroft Holmes! Well I won’t have it! Greg is going to enjoy a very happy Christmas with us because we all like him and consider him a friend and you’re just going to get over it and there won’t be a single solitary comment about _goldfish_. Are we clear?” Rose demanded.

Mycroft’s eyebrows shot up as he looked at his little sister, his _baby_ sister, the baby sister _he_ raised, giving him a scolding.

Greg had a similar look of confusion on his face as he stood there. “Goldfish?” he finally asked.

“Mycroft, shove over please so we can come in. And ignore him, Greg, he’s an idiot sometimes. Or lots of times depending on your definition,” Rose commented. When her brother stepped aside, after giving her a meaningful look, she picked up her things and entered the house.

The detective-inspector gave Mycroft a nod before following Rose inside. “Mycroft Holmes is not someone I’d call an idiot on any day of the year, you know.”

“Then your definition is too rigid,” she decided, throwing a smile at him over his shoulder. “We’re Holmeses after all, we need our own brand of idiot.”

“WE HAVE ONE! IT’S CALLED ROSE!” Sherlock’s voice rang out from the kitchen.

“Welcome to the lion’s den,” John added, standing lazily against the wall near the kitchen. “If we stick together Greg, we might just survive Christmas.”

Rose giggled hysterically. “John, you act like this isn’t our life every day. Don’t be so dramatic,” she teased. “Which room did Sherlock give you?”

“Green one,” the doctor answered.

“Perfect. Come along Greg, let’s take our luggage upstairs. You get the blue room,” Rose directed, leading the way upstairs. She opened the door of the said blue room and smiled. “Here you go. Unpack if you wish, but don’t take long because we’ve got _loads_ of things to do!”

Twenty minutes later Rose bounded down the stairs and went straight for the hall closet to retrieve a very necessary tool for Christmas merriment. “Everyone ready?” she called, slinging a large axe over her shoulder. “Time to get our Christmas tree! This time I want to chop it down.”

“Rose! Put that bloody thing down before you hurt yourself!” John shouted as he exited the kitchen. “What in the world are you on about?” He crossed the room and took the axe from her and gave her a look. She giggled in response, which wasn’t what he’d hoped to achieve.

As John confiscated her weapon, Sherlock and Mycroft shared looks across the room at one another. “About that,” Sherlock began slowly. “We never actually cut down any Christmas trees when you were young.”

Rose’s jaw dropped. “Wait, what? But you always left with the axe and came back with a tree!”

“We did, from the village nearby. We never chopped down anything. That was Father’s tradition and Mother thought it was important we somehow recreate the illusion of tree-chopping for you,” Mycroft admitted. “Not that I understood why, you were only two when passed after all.”

“But… but… For real? You two seriously never chopped down even a single tree in all those years? My entire childhood has been a lie!” Rose wailed, looking horribly distraught.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Given your current display of dramatics, one might argue that your childhood has yet to _end_.”

She began sniffling in response and John was just about to put an arm around her when Rose began laughing hysterically to the confusion of her brothers. “Do you two seriously think I didn’t know that? And here you’re supposed to be geniuses! You got in a car, and no one drives a car in an actual forest,” she pointed out. “I solved that puzzle when I was five, but it was loads of fun playing pretend.”

“Rosenwyn Holmes, you are a plague upon this earth,” Mycroft decided. “John, do put the axe away. We’ll take the car and go to pick out a tree, only because there will be weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth from Rose if we don’t.”

Rose bound across the room and stood on her tiptoes to kiss Mycroft’s cheek. “You’re ever so much fun to tease,” she whispered.

“Brat, go get in the car before I leave you behind,” he ordered.

\---------------------------------------------

An hour later the Motley band of merry-makers returned from the village with what Rose was certain was the best Christmas tree there ever was. Mycroft had forgotten how much she loved Christmas and while he secretly enjoyed her excitement and glee, he made certain to scowl, scold, and frown in response. After all, it was the Holmesian way, and he had a reputation as the family Grinch to maintain!

“I’m so proud of all of you!” Rose declared when they situated the tree in the sitting room. “Everyone deserves a reward for being such good tree-draggers.”

“That’s not a word,” Sherlock interjected.

“Shut up Sherlock. I’m making cocoa for everyone and if you want any, stop picking on me.” Rose stuck her tongue out at him playfully before heading into the kitchen. “Mycroft! You and Sherlock need to get the boxes from the attic with all the decorations!”

“What? The tree isn’t enough?!” Mycroft demanded, sending a scowl her way, even as he headed for the stairs. “Come along Sherlock, she won’t be silenced until she gets her way.”

By the time the cocoa was ready all the boxes of decorations had been brought down from the attic and were piled into the sitting room. “Cocoa’s up,” Rose called, carefully carrying a tray into the room. “There’s whip cream and chocolate drizzle, too, if anyone is so inclined. Or just me, I can eat them both all by myself without a problem.”

Greg chuckled and grinned. “You all get started on the cocoa, I’m going to have a smoke and be right back in. Don’t start decorating without me, I want to see the mayhem!” He retrieved his coat from the hall closet and fumbled in the pockets for his pack of cigarettes and lighter before exiting the house, not noticing that something else fell out of his coat pocket.

Just as Greg exited, Mycroft’s mobile rang and the caller ID grew a groan from the man. “I left the city seven hours ago and already the prime minister is in over his head. Do excuse me.” He answered the phone as he headed down the hallway to his study.

“Poor Mycroft, there’s so many stupid people in the world,” Rose murmured. “Oh well, he’ll sort it all out and be back in time to have cocoa, even if I end up re-heating it for him.” She passed a mug to both John and Sherlock before adding a generous helping of whip cream to the top of her own.

Sherlock absentmindedly sipped on the hot drink, thinking back on Christmases past when the whole family had celebrated together and made a game of all the decorating. It had always pleased Mother so much to have them all around and the house so festive. He’d never understood it, but he hadn’t minded doing it for Mother’s sake. As he glanced around the room, something caught his eye near the door and he set his mug down in order to retrieve it. Thinking it was something that belonged to Lestrade, Sherlock intended to keep it and drive the man mad when he discovered it missing and searched frantically for it later. That was one of his favorite games! It was not, however, something that belonged to Greg. It was a driver’s license in a fake name with his sister’s photo on it.

Sherlock pocketed the license and stormed down the hallway, letting himself into Mycroft’s unlocked office. He completely ignored his older brother’s indignant look and wrenched open a drawer of Mycroft’s desk to retrieve a very large wooden spoon before exiting the room. With spoon in hand he entered the sitting room and took Rose’s cocoa out of her hand.

“I was drinking that Sherlock!” she exclaimed, not seeing the spoon partially hidden behind his back.

“Not anymore you aren’t,” he growled, hauling her up by an arm. “With me,” Sherlock commanded and began pulling her towards the stairs, leaving a gaping John in his wake

“Sherlock what are you on about?” Rose asked just before catching sight of the spoon. That was a spoon that had only one purpose: smacking bottoms! “Sherlock wait! I haven’t even done anything I swear!”

“Lie,” Sherlock responded accusingly. “You’re just full of lies aren’t you, sister dear?” His tone was anything but familial as he pulled her along the upstairs hallway and into her bedroom. Once her door was shut behind them Sherlock took the license from his pocket and held it out for her to see. “You. Lied. To. Me,” he growled.

The color drained from Rose’s face as she was presented with the license Lestrade had confiscated mere hours ago. “Oh god, I can explain,” she began.

“Oh this ought to be good,” Sherlock retorted, crossing his arms over his chest. “Go ahead, try to explain your way out of this Rosenwyn Aramantha. We had a conversation in September, do you recall it? When you surrendered all your false identity materials to me? ‘I promise that’s everything and I’ll never need them again.’ You said. Remember?”

_Three Months Earlier_

“You keep acting as if I’ll leave at any second,” Rose murmured one evening as they sat in Sherlock and John’s flat. “You try not to let it show, but you’re worried. I promise, I’m not leaving again.”

“I’d feel much better about things if you turned over all your fake documents,” Sherlock admitted. “I’ll never forget the way it felt that night Mycroft found your note, or the way it felt every day that you were missing and I was worried for you.”

Rose hugged her big brother tightly before getting up and exiting the flat. She returned moments later with a small bag of various ID cards, name tags, and other assorted items. “Will you be able to relax a bit now? Not come check on me during the night to make sure I’m still there, if I give you these?”

Sherlock looked her in the eyes. “I will accept these with your promise that this is every last item and that you’re giving them to me to prove you’re happy and won’t ever frighten me that way again by disappearing, ever.”

Rose handed him the bag without even a second’s hesitation. “I promise that’s everything and I’ll never need them again. I’m here to stay, I’m a happy girl, and I love you, even when you worry too much.”

_Present_

“I… I… Er… Well…” Rose’s mind was spinning as she grappled for some way to explain the appearance of an item she had given her word that it had not existed. “I thought I might need it. Sometimes a person needs to drive a car and then at least I’d be driving legally… in a sense,” she finally managed to spit out.

“What for?” Sherlock demanded. “What could you possibly need a driver’s license for? And if you really wanted one, you could get a legal one _here_ with your actual name on it without a great deal of difficulty. Were you saving this for something? Planning on a midnight getaway to Gretna Green in the near future?”

His mention of the historically infamous place in Scotland where lovers ran away to be wed threw her off for a moment and Rose didn’t respond fast enough for his liking.

“No response? No reasonable excuse?”

“What if there had been an emergency? Before I got a proper license?” Rose asked in a tiny voice. “Or something…” The look on his face told Rose she was only making things worse by trying to come up with some sort of explanation for not turning the license over to him three months ago.

“This does not give me confidence in your word Rosenwyn. You will not lie, especially not to me. I thought I’d taught you that lesson quite some time ago. Apparently, you need a refresher course in why it is a very poor choice to lie to me.”

Sherlock’s tone was stern and steely, one he so very rarely used with her and Rose found it particularly upsetting. “But I did learn that lesson, not to lie,” Rose whispered, her hands going back to cup her bum protectively. “Really Sherlock, I just… It was stupid, really stupid and I should have given it to you. Sometimes I’m honestly just an idiot. Besides, Lestrade already confiscated it, so I’m not sure why you even have it.”

“The reason why I have it is immaterial. The reason we are here right now is because you lied by word and you lied by omission and I don’t care how old you are, Rosenwyn Aramantha Holmes, those things will _never_ be tolerated and always earn you a good spanking,” Sherlock responded, unwilling to let her sad look and tiny voice deter him.

“But I don’t want you to!” Rose whined loudly, adding a stomp for emphasis. “Sherlock, its Christmas, and I’m sorry!”

In response to her pleading, Sherlock merely sat down on her bed and gave Rose a pointed look. “Can you honestly look me in the eye Rose and promise me that this was a mistake? That you’d forgotten you had it? If you can, then I’m clearly in the wrong and am being too harsh. Am I wrong?”

She looked him directly in the eye, the lie on the tip of her tongue, just waiting to be said, but Rose couldn’t bring herself to say it. Not even to save her bum from a very sound smacking. Rose shook her head and whispered, “No, you’re not wrong.”

Rose looked so utterly miserable that Sherlock couldn’t resist giving her a little praise for admitting that. “That’s my good girl, my brave girl,” he said sincerely, reaching for her hand and squeezing it when he caught it. “ _Very_ brave. Now we need to have a discussion about lying, don’t we?” His tone was considerably softer than it had been a moment ago, her admission allowing him to drop that hard, steely tone to the stern-yet-gentle tone he preferred to use when disciplining her. For all her stubbornness, Rose was a sensitive girl at heart and shouting bothered her, he’d learned over the years. A very stern tone got her attention just as well, without unduly upsetting her. She’d be upset enough as it was when he set her bottom on fire!

“Not with that though, please?” Rose begged, indicating the spoon currently sitting beside Sherlock on her bed. “We don’t need it, really. Your hand hurts plenty all on its own.”

An eyebrow quirked. “That’s not a serious question, is it miss? You’re not _really_ trying to tell me you haven’t earned this, are you?” Sherlock smirked just a bit when Rose hurriedly shook her head. “I thought not. Jeans down and over my lap.”

“Noooooo, I want to keep them up,” she whined.

Sherlock always found it very interesting how easily she reverted to childish whining and other habits she’d had since she was little, like shuffling her feet, whenever it came time for a scolding and spanking. Not that it ever did her any good, however. “One…”

“Oh my god, what is it with people counting all the damn time?” Rose grumbled as she unbuttoned her jeans. Finally she pushed them to her knees and bent over his lap, cringing in advance as he adjusted her position a bit. She saw him reach for the spoon out of the corner of her eye. “Not the whole time!” she protested.

Frowning, Sherlock tapped her bum firmly with the spoon. “I don’t think that’s a serious question either, is it? No matter; even if it is, you’ve most certainly earned this Rosenwyn and I _know_ that you know that.”

Rose tried to brace herself for the coming smacks but there was really no preparing for a smacking with a wooden spoon. It was a light implement but what it lacked in bulk it made up for with a nasty sting. Before she was ready for it, the spoon landed with a solid swat on the lower portion of her right cheek; as she sucked in a breath, it fell once more on her left cheek.

With no particular pattern in mind, Sherlock set up a steady rhythm of swats, intending to give her a very sore reminder of what a bad choice lying was. He was, of the two brothers, the far more lenient ‘parent’ but even Sherlock had lines that Rose should know better than to cross.

As the spanking got underway upstairs, Lestrade finished his cigarette and entered the house once more. Initially, he heard nothing out of the ordinary, but the noise finally registered as he hung his coat up in the hall closet. Greg paused, frowned, and thought hard, trying to identify the sounds coming from upstairs. It sounded like… but it couldn’t be…. could it?

Greg looked over at John, who was silently drinking his cocoa while sitting on the couch. The doctor looked a bit uncomfortable and Greg was beginning to _feel_ a bit uncomfortable. “Uh…,” he began. “Er… what’s going on?”

John coughed a bit before responding. “Sherlock and Rose are having a discussion. No idea why, but he was distinctly displeased with her. Practically hauled her upstairs,” he finally told Greg.

“A discussion? Doesn’t sound like any discussion I’ve ever heard,” the inspector-detective replied, a frown settling on his face.

“That’s what Sherlock calls a… well…” Considering the fact that he himself had given Rose a few spankings since she’d wandered onto Baker Street, John had no idea why it was so awkward for him to actually say the bloody word. It just was. He coughed once more. “That’s how Sherlock refers to spankings. Like I said, no idea what she did, but that’s what… that… is.” John cringed despite himself when he could clearly hear the sounds of tears.

A panicked look crossed Greg’s face. Immediately he retrieved his coat from the closet and searched every pocket; he was very dismayed to find that Rose’s false driver’s license was gone. A big ball of guilt immediately settled in his gut. “This is my fault. Damn.” Greg crossed the room and sat on the couch, letting out a deep breath as he did so.

Upstairs, Sherlock was well on his way to painting Rose’s bottom cherry red, though he struggled a bit to block out her tears. It had never been easy for him to spank her, even when she’d more than earned it, and the more she cried, the more like an arsehole he felt.

“Sherlock! Please! Ow!” Rose yelped, squirming over his lap. She never tried to actually get up from his lap, not that Sherlock would have let her anyway, but Rose certainly gave in to the urges to kick, wriggle, and squirm. Her bum was on fire, the sting completely intolerable, and she wriggled in response to the pain.

Despite her caterwauling, Sherlock knew he wasn’t really hurting her; not _really_. Spoons stung, but didn’t bruise unless one was really reckless in administering it, so while it might sting and feel as though she’d never sit again, he knew better. When he could see a pink color peeking out from under her pants, Sherlock stopped and shifted the spoon to his other hand while the other tugged her pants down to join her jeans.

“Nooooooooo! Sherlock please!” Rose’s frantic tears grew in intensity and volume, making her big brother cringe, although she couldn’t see it.

“We’ve already discussed lying in the past, Rose. You know how much I dislike repeat offenses, and this was not something you should have been deceptive about. Given your secret keeping in other matters, I’m concerned this is becoming a pattern,” Sherlock admitted. “I want to make it very, very clear that I will _not_ tolerate lying, by word or by omission, on anything. I don’t think I’ve got my message across emphatically enough just yet.

“You’re being very brave,” he added, rubbing her back gently after shifting the spoon back to his dominant hand. “Very brave, and I’m so proud of you, because I know it’s not fun and that it hurts. Be brave just a bit longer.” Just as he raised the spoon once again, Rose’s hands flew back to try and protect her reddening cheeks. He didn’t blame her, and it didn’t make her any less brave in his book, but Sherlock knew he couldn’t allow it either.

“I’m going to hold your hands, Rose. I don’t want to smack them with the spoon by mistake, spoons aren’t for smacking hands,” Sherlock commented as he captured her wrists in one hand before moving them to the small of her back.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, Sherlock, I’m sorry!” Rose wailed as the spanking began once more. The sting and heat continued to build as the spoon fell again and again, causing her to kick and drum her feet on the floor, though really only her toes touched it. Finally, when it became completely unbearable, she broke down in heartfelt sobs and buried her face in the duvet.

Just like that, the spanking stopped. Sherlock was satisfied that she’d learned a good lesson and even winced in sympathy at how painful her very red cheeks and sit spots looked. Releasing her hands, he dropped the spoon on the floor and began rubbing her back. “All over Rose. We’re all done and you’re forgiven. I know we won’t have to discuss this again. You’re a good girl Rose, my good girl,” he crooned soothingly. Sherlock wasn’t entirely certain she could hear him over her tears, but he tried to soothe her all the same.

After a moment or so had passed, Sherlock helped Rose up from his lap so he could gather her close in his arms. Settling her well-spanked bottom between his thighs, he wrapped his arms around her, feeling his heart twinge when she grasped onto his shirt with both hands.

“There, there,” Sherlock soothed, rocking her gently. “I know it’s very sore, but it’s all done now. My brave girl, my brave little Rose. It’ll be alright, I promise.”

Rose snuggled as close to him as she possibly could while she cried out her tears. It had been quite the spanking and it took several minutes for her tears to disappear completely. After taking a deep breath, she looked up at Sherlock, biting her lip for a few seconds before speaking. “I’m really sorry Sherlock. I don’t know what I was thinking. I won’t do it again, that really is every single thing now and you can search my flat if you want. I’m so sorry.”

“I know you are,” Sherlock hurried to assure her. “We won’t talk about it again and I won’t let Mycroft bother you either. It’s finished.” He kissed her forehead and wiped away a few stray tears with the pad of his thumb.

“I don’t want to go downstairs,” Rose blurted out rather suddenly. “Greg’s here. He’s my boss, and my friend, but also my boss--”

“You said that title already,” Sherlock interrupted, earning a scowl for his troubles.

“It’s embarrassing enough when it’s just John. I think I’m going to stay up here. Will you have John bring me something to eat later?” she asked.

“Unfortunately, remaining up here isn’t an option. Who else will be in charge of the decorating? You’re the one that wants all this festive nonsense, so you must be the director of its creation,” he responded. “You can do it, you’re a strong girl. Gavin isn’t going to tease you about it.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “Greg; his name is Greg, Sherlock. It might be a lovely Christmas present for him if you actually bothered to remember his bloody name.”

Sherlock gently poked her nose with his finger. “Language. Mycroft will get on you about that. Come on now, fix your clothes and we’ll go down together.”

\-------------------------------------------

Downstairs, Greg was trying not to look as anxious as he felt. One, it was very, very awkward to hear a spanking going on and just be sitting there. Two, he felt horribly guilty that Rose’s license had been found, knowing it had to have fallen out of his pocket. Or Sherlock had pick-pocketed him again, but either way, he hadn’t done a great job of keeping it away from Rose’s rather overprotective brothers. It was oddly comforting that John looked just as anxious as he did, though for entirely different reasons.

It seemed like an eternity had passed before the two men heard the sound of footsteps in the hall above them. Within just a moment, Sherlock and Rose descended the stairs and Greg felt like an ass all over again. She looked just _awful_ ; face all tear-streaked, eyes red and a bit swollen. He should say something, Greg thought, but the question was what to say.

As Greg struggled to formulate the appropriate verbal response to Rose’s arrival, John threw Sherlock a dark look when he caught sight of Rose. Oh, John knew she’d probably well earned it- she _was_ Rose Holmes after all- but that didn’t mean he had to _like_ it. “Aw, love, c’mere,” he said gently, intending to cuddle her close. He knew Sherlock already had, but Rose looked like she needed even more, considering she was the very picture of misery while standing there shyly by her brother.

Normally, Rose would have happily gone to John for some further cuddle time and the opportunity to watch John scowl at her brother for being so mean. This time, however, she stood up a little straighter, took a deep breath and said, “I’m fine. It’s all fine. I’m going to start supper, we can decorate after.” Without waiting for anyone’s response, she hurriedly disappeared into the kitchen. “And Sherlock, you’re not welcome in the kitchen with food the entire time we’re here. I mean it, I don’t want our food becoming experiments on how to poison your family at Christmas or something equally ridiculous,” she called back. Though Rose couldn’t see his face, she could well imagine the look of outrage on it at just that moment.

Five minutes later, while Rose was furiously busy in the kitchen, Mycroft emerged from his office after sorting out the latest mess the prime minister had made. “So,” he began as he took a seat in a chair. “Going to tell me what that was all about, brother mine? What has our darling sister been up to now?”

“No, I’m not going to tell you,” Sherlock immediately responded. “Consider the matter closed.”

While Mycroft mounted an argument about why he should know, despite the fact he’d turned over the reigns of ‘main disciplinarian’ to Sherlock, Greg made his way into the kitchen.

“Greg, I don’t have any nibbles for you. If you’re hungry, there are snacks in the fridge. Otherwise please leave me alone,” Rose stated in a clipped tone.

“Actually, I came to see if you needed any help,” Greg said quietly.

“No; I’d like you to go away.”

Greg sighed, noting her refusal to even look up from the carrots she was cutting up, let alone look at him. “I’m actually a good cook, you know. Might be fun to have someone to cook with for a change,” he commented.

“Are you trying to make me look you in the face and tell you that I’m horribly embarrassed and would prefer to be alone? I’d really rather skip that part, if you don’t mind,” Rose responded. “And if you’re trying to make a very awkward apology for however Sherlock got that fake license, please don’t bother. I should have known better than to keep it in the first place.”

Yep, she was definitely a Holmes, Greg couldn’t help but think. Though she didn’t want to hear the words, he very much wanted to say them and wouldn’t allow her prickly attitude to prevent him from doing so. He crossed the room and put a hand on her arm. “Put the knife down, will you?” he asked quietly.

Rose sighed. “What for?”

“’Cause I’m your boss and I said so.” He kept his tone light and teasing and was secretly thrilled when Rose put the knife down. Gently, he turned her around to face him. “I’m sorry kid, really. I had every intention to keep that between us and should have done a better job at keeping Sherlock from picking my pocket; _again_.”

“I should have given it to him when I gave him everything else,” Rose admitted. “It’s not your fault.”

Greg squeezed her shoulder gently. “You alright?” It was downright painful when she shook her head no and looked down at her feet. He wasn’t entirely sure when it had happened, but apparently, she’d wrapped him around her finger as well.

“I’m really, really embarrassed. I mean, it’s always embarrassing, but I’m used to John being around. But you’re my friend and my boss and…” Rose’s voiced trailed off as she took a deep breath to steady it. She really didn’t want to start crying again.

“None of that,” he responded kindly, suddenly pulling her into his arms. “I don’t think any less of you, I promise. And I still think you’re a good kid, too.” Greg felt a smile tugging at his lips when Rose returned his hug and held onto her for a moment before relaxing his embrace.

“Did you mean what you said?” Rose asked, looking up at him once more. “You can actually cook?”

“I’ll let you in on a secret: I _love_ to cook, and I’m very good, if I do say so myself. I just don’t often get the opportunity to do it. The job and all.”

“Well, you’ll have to prove it to me. You’d best prove your skills, Greg Lestrade. Start with the potatoes,” Rose directed. “This time, I’m the boss! My kitchen, my rules.”

Greg laughed and went to the sink to wash up. “Prepare to be amazed, Rose! I’m going to knock your socks off.”

“You’ve just dated yourself Greg. Less talk, more cooking,” Rose laughed. “And Greg? Thanks.” There was no need to specify what she was thanking him for, as they both knew.

“Anytime kid, anytime.”

 


	30. Christmas Folly II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got crazy long because I didn’t want to split up the Christmas stuff into too many chapters and also couldn’t find a good place to cut it off, even if I wanted to. So here is a crazy long chapter for your enjoyment!

As the odd little crew gathered for supper, John discreetly carried a small pillow with him into the dining area, sliding it onto Rose’s seat without alerting anyone other than her to its presence. Having spotted him doing so, Rose immediately crossed the room to hug him tightly.

“You’re my favorite,” she whispered, giving him a grin.

“You’re my favorite too,” John replied just as quietly before giving her a kiss on the cheek.

“John, you’re unhelpful,” Sherlock decided, though he gave Rose a wink as he said it. He certainly wouldn’t begrudge her a pillow.

Mycroft smirked at his younger brother. “Now you know how I’ve always felt. There couldn’t possibly be a less helpful co-parent in the entire world than Sherlock Holmes.”

“Now, now, let’s not get into arguments about who was or is better at that,” Rose said loudly. “Just to warn everyone, Greg assisted in making our meal this evening. He’s got some mad skills, so I think we’re all safe.”

“How about some wine to accompany our meal?” Mycroft asked, opening a bottle.

“Me too! Oh please say me too!” A brilliant smile accompanied the request.

Mycroft gave his sister a withering look. “Do exercise some discretion, Rose. Also, don’t sound so excited about alcohol, it worries me.” He wasn’t at all surprised when Rose responded by sticking her tongue out at him.

\---------------------------------------------

Decorating was as much of a disaster as Greg could have hoped for. He was certain he hadn’t laughed this hard in a long, long time.

“Rose, why do you insist on running around wearing tinsel?” Mycroft asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m getting into the character.”

“What character?”

“God you’re so slow Mycroft. The character of Christmas of course,” Rose replied with a dramatic eye roll.

“Christmas is a holiday, not a character,” Sherlock pointed out.

“Shut up and put the angel on the tree,” Rose instructed. She gasped in horror as Mycroft removed said angel from its box and tossed it across the room at Sherlock.

“MYCROFT!” Rose shrieked. “That’s Mum’s angel, I’m going to murder you!” She stormed across the room and smacked her brother’s arm none-too-gently. “I know you hate Christmas but don’t ruin mine. God, _brothers_. Whoever thought they were a good idea?”

Sherlock frowned. “If the world intends to continue producing human beings brothers- since they are men- are somewhat important, given their involvement in the process of creating said humans. Must we have the sex talk Rose? Mycroft didn’t you have that talk with her? It might be time.”

Mycroft and Rose both looked absolutely horrified, but for very different reasons.

“You are seriously far less than funny Sherlock,” Rose hissed. “Yes, yes, smirk delightedly if you must. I am not in need of any talk of any nature relating at all to that subject, thank you so much! I’m twenty, in case you forgot!”

“You're not?!” her brothers said in unison, looking simultaneously horrified and relieved.

“Just precisely what were you doing while on your extended, illicit holiday, young lady?” Mycroft asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“This is the strangest conversation I’ve ever heard,” Greg commented, shaking his head. He decided to put decorations on the tree, rather than stare at the lunatics known as the Holmeses.

“I need coffee, I can’t handle you two,” Rose grumbled. “For your information, my dear brothers, Eleanor discussed all that with me ages ago, because she thought it might go terribly wrong if she left it to Mycroft.”

“She might have at least asked first,” Mycroft decided, scowling.

“Why? You would have said no and a girl can’t exactly grow up without knowing… things… about… things,” Rose responded, carefully avoiding mentioning what ‘things’ she meant.

“Who’s Eleanor?” John asked.

“Louise’s mum. She was very helpful with that sort of thing, practically a second mum,” Rose responded. “Now please, let’s change the topic of conversation before I actually die of embarrassment. I don’t know what I did to deserve you two for brothers but clearly I was a very bad person in a former life to have earned this.”

John chuckled and moved to pick up a basket of greenery. “Rose, what do you me to do with--- ah, mistletoe.”

“Why did you get mistletoe?” Sherlock asked. “Do you not realize that you’re the only person of the female variety here?”

“Person of the female variety?” she echoed. “Do you know how odd that sounds? And what does it matter that I’m the only girl? I find that to be an upside, because then I get all the kisses,” Rose grinned. She laughed at the look of horror on Sherlock’s face, and had no doubt Mycroft had a similar look.

“You worry me Rose,” Mycroft commented as he collected the mistletoe from John. He’d put it up, despite being less than thrilled with the idea of it, but only for Rose and only because it was Christmas.

\----------------------------------------------

Late that night, Rose was pulling back the covers on her bed when she heard a light knocking on her door. Crossing the room, she opened the door and found Sherlock on the other side.

“Come to tuck me in?” Rose asked with an indulgent smile.

“Don’t smile at me in that manner,” Sherlock grumbled good-naturedly. “That’s the way you smile at people who are morons that you merely want to want indulge for sentimental reasons.”

Rose stared at him for several seconds before giggling softly. “Oh Sherlock,” she murmured, opening the door wider so he could come in. “Seriously though, are you here to tuck me in?” Not that she’d ever admit it to anyone, least of all her brothers, but Rose did miss being tucked in every now and then.

Sherlock shook his head, though he wouldn’t turn the chance down if she asked him, and held out his hand which held John’s jar of arnica cream. “I come with a bit of a peace offering.”

“You didn’t steal that from John, did you?” Rose asked, giving him a stern look.

“As if you’re one to talk, miss, considering you steal his jumpers on a regular basis,” Sherlock replied. “But no, I asked him. He glared at me in response and handed it over. I find his behavior quite odd: he has no problem at all spanking you when the occasion calls for it, yet every time I do, he glares and complains about it.”

She laughed. “Touché! And I, for one, enjoy that bit, when he scolds and scowls at you and I get extra cuddles. He’s very protective of me, it’s sweet. John and his behavior aside, I would very much like some of that cream, though you don’t have to make it a peace offering. I’m not mad at you, you know.”

“Alright, bare your bum then and lie down on the bed,” Sherlock instructed. He waited until she was ready and then sat down beside her on the bed. “Not as bad as I’d anticipated,” he murmured as he gently began rubbing the cream on.  “Is it terribly sore, still?”

“Not too bad, to be honest. It just stung like there was no tomorrow during, but it’s got a bit of an ache left over,” Rose told him honestly.

“Was I too hard on you? I was worried I might have been.”

“Ah, thus the reason for your appearance with the lovely arnica cream,” Rose mused. “No, you weren’t. Not that it wasn’t terribly painful or that the nasty sting faded straight away, but you weren’t. I should have known better than to keep it. Sometimes… like, I know I’m smart, even brilliant at times, but there always seems to be loopholes to my brilliance that trip me up. This was one of them.”

Sherlock nodded. “I’d agree with that assessment. Try to think on things a bit more, you’ll get into less trouble that way,” he suggested.

“I know I was in the wrong,” Rose assured him once more. She was starting to sound rather drowsy. “And if I’m being honest, Mycroft would have made that seem like a baby spanking had _he_ been the one to discover the license. So if it had to be someone, I’m glad it was you.”

When Sherlock finished applying the cream, Rose put her clothing to rights and then laid out on her stomach once more.

“You’re about ready to fall asleep, I can see it on your face,” Sherlock murmured, gently combing his fingers through her curls. “Now that you’re all relaxed, you’d best get into bed. If you fall asleep on top of the duvet, you’ll be half frozen by morning.”

“So you _do_ want to tuck me in then,” she replied quietly. “I’d like that actually.”

“I can any time you’d like, you know,” Sherlock commented, frowning slightly as he ‘read’ his sister. Things had changed a bit since she’d been attacked, though not enough for the ordinary person to notice, aside from the sudden obsession with John’s jumpers. Her sleep was more restless and Rose had moments where she was almost clingy, in a way. The number of times she’d mentioned being tucked in indicated she was, in some way, feeling vulnerable just then.

Rose rolled onto her side and looked at him. “Don’t deduce me Sherlock. And I’m twenty, why would I _need_ you to tuck me in?”

“Shouldn’t make it so easy then, Rosie. I also have no idea why you might or might not need to be tucked in some time, other than now when I’m already conveniently here.” He got up from the bed and waited for her to slide under the covers. Once she did so, Sherlock tucked Rose in snuggly and sat down beside her. He leaned over to kiss her head before he resumed stroking her hair gently, humming a bit as he did so. Rose hadn’t asked him to, but Sherlock felt the need too, for some inexplicable reason. He waited until she was fast asleep before turning off the lights and leaving the room.

\------------------------------------------------

Christmas Eve was a flurry of activity at the Holmes country house once everyone had vacated their beds. Presents were secretly being wrapped in various rooms before being placed under the tree and Rose and Greg were baking up a storm together. Pies, pastries, fresh bread, you name it, they were making it.

“Mycroft Holmes, you may not have any more cookies,” Rose said sternly when Mycroft attempted to sneak into the kitchen. Attempt being the operative word. “You’ve already had eight and that’s just the ones I’ve see you take, that’s more than enough for the next several hours.”

The siblings squared off there in the kitchen, Mycroft looking stern and forbidding, Rose looking resolute with her hands on her hips as she attempted to stare down her much taller brother.

“I’ll smack your hand if you steal anymore cookies today and I seriously mean that My. Don’t cross me,” she warned.

“Wait just a minute here. I’m supposed to make the rules and you’re supposed to follow them without so much cheek. If I want cookies in my own house, cookies I will have,” Mycroft informed her before reaching for yet another one… Only to have his hand lightly smacked by the stirring spoon Rose was holding.

Rose looked at him defiantly. “You were warned.”

Mycroft yanked her arm, pulling her closer, and firmly swatted her backside. Rose yelped in response and smacked his bum in return, though the look on his face quickly informed her that that was a bad choice and she decided to duck for cover.

“Greg! Protect me!” she shouted, quickly moving to hide behind the stunned detective-inspector. “I’m about to be murdered!”

“Alright, alright, enough you two. Everyone stop smacking everyone else and Mycroft, leave the cookies alone,” Greg said in a firm, authoritative tone. “You’re both going to end up hurting each other or creating a disaster in here, so let’s avoid it, yeah?”

Rose grinned and shouted, “Yeah!”

 “And that’s enough out of you too, kid,” Greg added, looking over his shoulder at her. “Your brother is in shock I think.”

“Then he should have a blanket because smacking me is a poor substitute for one,” Rose grumbled, glaring daggers at Mycroft. When her eldest brother smirked at her and turned to leave the kitchen, she tossed the spoon at his head and… luckily for her, she missed and only received a glare for her efforts.

Mycroft had been about to respond verbally when his mobile vibrated. Taking it out of his pocket, he saw the ID and smiled. “An old friend making a Christmas call,” he murmured and immediately exited the kitchen to answer the call.

“Tell the Queen I said happy Christmas!” Rose called.

“You’re a brave girl Rose; either that or a bit deranged. He’s not a man I’d throw things at,” Greg commented.

“I always throw things at him. It’s practically tradition and wouldn’t be a proper holiday if I didn’t,” Rose informed him with a grin.

\--------------------------------------------

Ever since the mistletoe had been put up, Rose had been nothing but a problem. She managed to just slide into place conveniently with someone underneath it and then demand her kiss. It annoyed Mycroft to no end, which was half her motivation, but Rose also loved being the center of attention for that brief few minutes, even if it only gained her a kiss on the cheek.

The best fun, however, came after supper on Christmas Eve when the Holmes brothers, who had carefully been avoiding the mistletoe as much as possible, somehow managed to be underneath it at the same time while one entered and one exited the kitchen.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” Rose started shouted from the living room upon discovering this development. “You have to kiss now!”

Sherlock scowled darkly at her and looked towards John and Greg for help. “It is tradition,” Greg pointed out, smirking in the most irritatingly gleeful manner. The brothers looked at each other blankly for a moment before turning their attention to Rose.

“We’re not kissing each other, you horrible brat,” Mycroft stated. “But come here and we’ll kiss you instead.”

Rose readily agreed and bounded across the room to receive a kiss on the cheek from each of her brothers. “You’re enjoying yourself far too much, Rose,” Mycroft grumbled after giving her a kiss. “I should really just take it down.”

“Grouch. You’re awful and ruining my holiday,” Rose whined before giggling crazily. It wouldn’t be a proper holiday if they weren’t bothering one another and the mistletoe was just part of the game!

\-----------------------------------

A few hours later that Christmas Eve, Mycroft looked up at the sound of a light, almost hesitant knock on his study door. “Come in Rose,” he called. He’d know that knock anywhere.

Sure enough, Rose entered the room with a small tray and kicked the door closed behind her. “You’ve been in here a long while and I wasn’t sure if you were just tired of people or if the world was about to end and thought you could use tea either way. I also thought a couple of cookies wouldn’t hurt either,” she gave him a smile as she placed the tray on his desk.

“I’m allowed to have some now, am I? I think you forget your place in this family: you’re the littlest,” Mycroft commented, though without any hint of scolding.

“Oh, I know I’m the littlest,” Rose assured him. “But the kitchen is my kingdom, because I’m awesome.” She giggled hysterically at the look on Mycroft’s face at her reasoning.

“That is debatable, sister mine. I only see one tea cup here, best go get one if you’re going to have tea with me,” Mycroft pointed out. When she grinned and bounded out of the room, he smiled a bit and then immediately stopped smiling when her footsteps drew near the study once more.

“You know this means you’ll have to share those cookies with me? And that Sherlock is going to start teasing you about being fat again, while adding cookies to the cake fetish he seems to believe you have?” Rose asked as she poured them both tea.

“Mmm,” Mycroft murmured a non-committal noise. “Did you know that I wasn’t even certain you drank tea anymore? I only see you with coffee these days, or whining about coffee or dreaming about coffee or screaming at John to make you coffee…” He was promptly cut off when Rose threw a cookie at his head.

“You are very poorly behaved my dear,” Mycroft grumbled while Rose smirked at him.

“It’s almost 11pm; even I don’t drink coffee this late at night. Not if I want to sleep sometime tonight,” Rose explained. “Besides, I hadn’t planned to be invited to have tea with you. That was very nice.” She rewarded him with a pretty smile.

Mycroft took a sip of his tea and raised an eyebrow. “I had an ulterior motive, so do contain your excitement.”

“And now comes the interrogation! Where were you on the 20th of November in 1912?!” Rose said dramatically, trying to deepen her voice.

“It is an interrogation of a sort, if you choose to view it in that way,” Mycroft said slowly. “It occurred to me earlier today, after the great cookie fiasco in the kitchen- and I still think you’re a brat, by the way- that I have no idea what you did for Christmas last year. Upon realizing that, I decided I would like to know, if you choose to share the details, because…” he paused and drank a bit more tea.

“Go on,” Rose encouraged. “I’m not stopping you. Say what’s in your heart My, I know you can do it. Just be brave!” She grinned delightedly when her brother looked horrified.

“Oh for god’s sake Rose,” Mycroft retorted, giving her a decidedly unhappy look. “Where did I go wrong with you?” Rather than continuing, he began eating a cookie.

Rose took full advantage of his cooking eating induced silence. “You’re wondering what I did last Christmas, considering it’s my favorite holiday, but more importantly, you’re subtly trying to figure out a few things. One: What did I do? Two: Was I happy? Three: Did I miss you? Four: Was I safe while having my ‘extended holiday’ as you referred to it earlier. Five: Am I happy to be back, or was I happier where I happened to be last year?”

“Don’t do that. Don’t deduce me Rosenwyn, I won’t have it,” Mycroft grumbled.

“You taught me! A little late to be thinking about the unpleasant bit of that now, dearest brother,” Rose quipped. “I’ll answer all those questions, provided you tell me honestly what _you_ did last year.”

Mycroft sighed unhappily. “I suppose that’s reasonable. You first.” Rather than launching into what he suspected was a fabulous holiday, probably spent half drunk somewhere with misfit teenagers, he watched her look at her cup of tea in silence. He let silence fill the room for a few moments before breaking it. “Tea can only be drunk through one’s mouth, not one’s eyes. Additionally, I am not, despite what some may tell you, telepathic, so you’ll need to use your words and communicate verbally.”

Rose took a fortifying drink of her tea before setting the cup down on the tray and looking at her brother on the other side of the desk. “It was miserable, every single minute of it. I wasn’t alone, in a sense. I was staying with a family in Geneva at that point; they owned the restaurant I worked at. I told them I was a homeless orphan and they hired me on the spot and even rented a room to me in their home for a ridiculously cheap rate,” she began.

“They were lovely, lovely people and they included me in all their Christmas celebrations. I went to church with them and had dinner with their family. They even got me a present, a royal blue scarf with daisies on it. I brought it back with me.” She paused once more and reached for her tea, praying Mycroft wouldn’t notice the slight tremor of her hand.

“I almost called you, to beg you for the money to come home,” she said softly. “But I was afraid of what you’d say if I did. I called Sherlock, I had a burner mobile so I knew you couldn’t trace the call, but the second he answered and I heard his voice I hung up. After supper that night I said I had a headache and went to my room, listened to sad music and cried myself to sleep.”

While his face may have remained impassive throughout Rose’s retelling of her miserable Christmas, inside, Mycroft’s heart was contracting painfully in his chest. It hurt him far more than Rose would ever know to think that she’d been desperate to come home but wasn’t certain he’d want her back. Maybe she hadn’t put it quite so bluntly, but the emotion in her voice said it for her.

“Come here.”

The sudden, rather loud command- and it was indeed a command- startled Rose, who was trying to put her teacup down, causing her to spill some tea onto the tray. For the first time since she’d begun telling him about last Christmas, she looked up at him. “What?  Why?” Rose’s mind raced as she tried to think of something she may have done to cause him to use _that_ particular tone. She couldn’t think of anything, but that didn’t mean there _hadn’t_ been something for him to be upset with her about.

“Rosenwyn, come here. In case you’re confused, I mean right now and not five minutes from now when you’ve finally decided you haven’t actually misbehaved,” Mycroft said firmly. “I’ll not ask a third time. Come here.”

Swallowing audibly, Rose got up and went around the desk, biting her lip nervously. Mycroft reached over and gently tapped her lips with his finger. “How many times must I tell you not to do that? When you were little, you’d chew on your lip so hard you’d split it open. Do you remember that?”

“That was random,” Rose decided.

“But effective. You stopped biting your lip,” Mycroft pointed out almost gleefully. He now reached for her hands and held them gently in his own, which were considerably larger than hers. Where Rose’s petite stature had come from he had no clue, but what Rose lacked in size she made up for with tenacity and a true fighting spirit. Sometimes too much of a fighting spirit.

“I would have come got you,” he said quietly. “Had you called, I would’ve been on a plane in a heartbeat to bring you home. Well, depending on what time you called I may not have been capable of moving at that sort of speed, but I would have come nonetheless. While you were listening to sad music in your rented room, I was at home in London, completely in my cups. For the second time in a week.”

Rose’s mouth fell open in shock. “You were drunk? You? That… that doesn’t make sense in my head. I might push all your buttons and make you lose your temper but you _never_ ever lose control like that.”

“I spent my Christmas day with an expensive bottle of scotch, trying to drink away the hurt of you not being there. Because it _did_ hurt, horribly, terribly, every day that you were gone. But your birthday and Christmas were exquisitely painful, to a degree that I hadn’t realized I was able to hurt. I forgave you the moment I found your letter and the words finally sank in,” Mycroft told her. “For everything, for things I hadn’t even realized I’d not forgiven you for yet. At the end of the day, Sherlock was right, though I won’t ever admit it to him. You just wanted him to come home and you were doing your best to make it imperative that he did, weren’t you?”

She nodded. “It didn’t feel right without him. I know he was old enough, more than old enough, to live on his own but… You two are such opposites and I needed him to balance you out and vice versa. You weren’t very affectionate anymore, largely because you weren’t home much and I get that now, but I didn’t before. The more I pushed, the more you pulled away so I kept trying to push even further so you couldn’t pull away or so Sherlock would feel obligated to move home.”

“And I was too busy being annoyed by your completely outrageous behavior that I didn’t stop to think about your motivations. You were never a stupid child; I should have known you weren’t just trying to be like every other moronic teenager on the planet. I mentally kicked myself every day for not seeing that in time. Though you really did pull out all the stops,” Mycroft admitted, shaking his head. “Being brought home in police cars, nearly being excluded from school, you were quite desperate to prove I couldn’t parent you as well on my own as I could with Sherlock.”

“Pretty much,” Rose confirmed. “Until the night you said you didn’t want to see my face anymore and sent me out of your study. Then I knew I’d gone too far, and felt there was no going back. After that you disapproved of everything and any attempts I made to try and be better, behave properly, make it up to you, you found suspect.”

“I did and those were a few very rotten years. I’m glad you still had Sherlock though; he took good care of you, soothing the hurts that I didn’t know were there. Don’t you _dare_ tell him that, by the way!” Mycroft told her sternly as he pulled her onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her tightly.

“Let’s make a promise to each other that we’ll never stop talking like that again,” Rose suggested. “I promise not to let it happen ever again.”

 “I promise, too,” Mycroft assured her. “You’ve grown into a wonderful person Rose. Still a bit ridiculous and have some growing up left to do--- making faces doesn’t disprove my point, you know,” he added when she stuck her tongue out at him. “In any case, I’m very proud of you.”

“Really? You really mean that My?” Rose asked earnestly.

Mycroft kissed the top of her head and held her a little bit closer, tighter. “Yes, really. I never meant for even a second those horrible words I said when you came back in August. I was merely angry and I lashed out inappropriately because of that.”

Rose sucked in a breath as she recalled those nasty, terribly hurtful words he’d said in his office. “Well there was tiny bit of truth of them at any rate,” she decided. “I doubt you were sitting around the dinner table one evening and said ‘Mother, you should really have another baby, wouldn’t that be a spectacular idea?’”

The tea Mycroft had just swallowed began choking him, causing quite a bit of coughing and sputtering before he could respond to Rose’s comment. “You’re incorrigible,” he grumbled. “Though completely correct. Unlike when Sherlock came along, however, I had no thoughts about trading you for a puppy.’

She giggled and proceeded to snatch the last cookie from the tray, diplomatically breaking it in half to share with her brother. “I’m curious though. Did you know from the beginning that you’d pretty much be the one raising me?”

“I did know, well in advance of your arrival, that in one way or another I would be responsible for you. Mother’s health and Father’s work,” Mycroft murmured. “What I didn’t count on when I made this grand plan to do my very best for you was the fact that I’d care so much about you. I was completely blindsided by that one.”

“That doesn’t surprise me a bit. Caring is not an advantage and all that, leave it to Mycroft Holmes to think he can raise a baby without actually having to cuddle her and love her up and all that squishy normal people nonsense,” Rose teased. When he scowled at her she even giggled uncontrollably for a moment.

“Unfortunately, you are entirely correct. Mother knew that would never work from the start and said not a word, just decided to let me figure it out on my own. She was a very wise woman, our mother. Much wiser than I often gave her credit for,” Mycroft admitted.

“I promise not to tell Sherlock that one either,” Rose quipped.

“Go to bed, brat. I’ve had enough of your company for one evening. I’m about to die of an overdose of sentiment,” Mycroft decided. He pressed another kiss to the top of her head before practically shoving her off his lap.

Rose had been ready to protest that she didn’t have a bedtime when she caught sight of the clock. They’d been talking for ages! “Alright, I won’t whine about it _this_ time,” she teased as she gave him a hug. “Love you My. Happy Christmas.”

“Sleep well poppet,” he murmured, holding her tightly before rather reluctantly letting her go.

\-------------------------------------------

“HAPPY CHRISTMAS!” Sherlock shouted, throwing open his sister’s door and proceeding to dive onto her bed.

Rose awoke with a start, screaming and flailing before she realized it was her brother, which she did not realize before falling on the floor. “Sherlock!”

The brother in question looked down at her from her bed, smirking. “See? That wasn’t fun when you did that every single year. Now you know.”

“Well I didn’t exactly plan to do that this year! Bloody hell!” Rose reached up and lightly smacked her brother’s arm before getting up off the floor. “I was still sleeping.”

“Never stopped you,” he pointed out. “And again, language.”

“Rosenwyn watch your language!” Mycroft shouted from the hallway. “Would someone please explain to me why there is screaming and people falling on the floor at 730am? I was _sleeping_ for once, and so was the rest of the house!” He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his siblings.

“Happy Christmas?” Rose offered with a grin. “Sherlock started it all.”

“Happy Christmas and I hate you both,” Mycroft replied, rolling his eyes. “Someone had best make me breakfast or I’m going to be very cranky all day. In case it wasn’t clear, ‘someone’ does not include Sherlock, because the last time he made me something to eat, I lost seven hours of my life that I can never get back. God only knows what he did to me during those hours.”

Rose’s eyes widened. “Oh god, I remember that. You recruited me!” she scolded Sherlock, smacking his arm again, this time a little more forcefully.

“Yes, well, you were five, adorable, and gave evidence against me. So really, I’m the aggrieved party here, because I got one hell of a smacking,” Sherlock grumbled.

“Precisely, so for your own sake Sherlock, stay away from the food, particularly food that’s mine,” Mycroft warned.

“You wouldn’t!” Sherlock and Rose shouted in near unison.

“Don’t test me. I want breakfast and I hate Christmas and we don’t have a gift for Gregory, since you secreted him here Rose. It’s rude not to have gifts for Christmas visitors, so I’ll let _you_ explain that one.” Mycroft turned on his heel and stalked off down the hallway, grinning deviously as soon as his back was turned to his siblings.

“I want breakfast and I hate Christmas,” Rose mimicked. While she couldn’t give a good impression of Mycroft, her attempt to do so was funny enough to make the siblings giggle loudly together. “Come on, I suppose I better make food for Sir Crankypants before he ruins everyone’s Christmas with all his whining. Will you be eating this morning, or is it a ‘bodies are transport’ day?”

“Depends on what you’re making. Will there be biscuits and sausage?” Sherlock asked.

“I think I can manage that. Come on, let’s head down before Mycroft starts all his whining,” Rose replied with a giggle. She grabbed her dressing gown and put it on, tying it in the front, before heading downstairs.

“Aw, Mycroft, you didn’t start any coffee for me!” Rose whined upon entering the kitchen.

“I don’t support your addiction to caffeine, so why would I make you coffee and contribute to your detrimental habit?” Mycroft asked.

“Because _your_ brother woke me and the whole house up too blasted early,” Rose grumbled.

“ _Our_ brother, and you started it, I remember that very clearly. Three years old, screaming about Christmas and diving onto my bed. I was less than appreciative,” Mycroft countered. “You thought it was hilarious and then did it every year thereafter, despite my threats to spank and/or throttle you.”

“Yeah, yeah, promises, promises,” Rose replied in a sing-song voice as she started the coffee maker. 

\-------------------------------------------

It wasn’t until after their Christmas feast, for which Greg produced one of his gifts to the collective group, a particularly nice bottle of wine, that all the present giving took place. Gathered around the sitting room, Rose took it upon herself to distribute the gifts to everyone before sitting down with her own pile of goodies to open.

“Such a spoiled child. Not worthy of any presents at all. Can Christmas be over yet?” Mycroft grumbled as she sat beside him on the couch. He was completely ignored by everyone, except for Lestrade’s odd looks at the man every so often.

As per usual, Sherlock and Mycroft exchanged no gifts whatsoever, in honor of their hate/love/mostly hate relationship and additionally because Mother wasn’t around to scold them for being mean to one another anymore.

“Here My, open the one from me first,” Rose decided, shoving a large box into his arms.  She sat there, grinning delightedly as he unwrapped the box.

Mycroft, however, was far less than delighted when he pulled a huge ugly teddy bear out of the box. His eyes went wide as he took in the ugly face, insipid color, and the three-piece suit the stuffed toy was wearing. He hadn’t even known a teddy bear could actually _be_ this ugly.

“Isn’t it fantastic?” Rose gushed. “I saw the suit and said “Gosh, that’s Mycroft! It’s a Mycroft bear!” and had to get it for you!”

“It’s…. lovely,” Mycroft began, keeping his voice even while averting his eyes from the hideous creature. “Very unique and…lovely.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rose’s face fall.

“You don’t like it do you?” she asked in a small, sad voice. “You hate it. Oh well, Christmas is stupid anyway.” Rose turned away from him, hearing Mycroft groan as she did so. A tense moment passed in the room as Sherlock struggled with not getting up and killing his brother and Mycroft couldn’t figure out how to convince Rose he did like the monstrosity.

“Kidding!” Rose suddenly shouted. She took the bear from her brother and threw it across the room. “That wasn’t your real gift, I just couldn’t resist getting it just to drive you crazy,” she said, laughing hard. “Here’s your real gift!”

Mycroft tugged on her ear but was far happier with his real gift: a lovely new tie.

They went around the room, everyone taking turns with their gifts, some better received than others. John was thrilled with the soft, warm- and expensive- scarf Rose gave him, comparing it already to Sherlock’s and finding it to be much better.

Sherlock rolled his eyes in response and opened an envelope from Rose. “It’s a picture of some sort of miniature refrigerator,” Sherlock pointed out, holding up the piece of paper. “What is the point of this?”

“Sometimes you’re very slow,” Rose giggled. “I bought you one of those, but I wasn’t going to drag it all the way out here! It’s hidden in my flat. More space for all your icky things to be kept cold, hooray, right?”

“This is my favorite Christmas,” Sherlock declared. “And you’re my favorite sister.”

Greg frowned. “Isn’t she your _only_ sister?”

“Doesn’t mean she can’t also be my favorite,” the consulting detective replied.

Rose was by far the most enthusiastic gift opener. She squealed and crossed the room to give Greg a hug when she unwrapped the polka dotted raincoat. She giggled hysterically when she unwrapped the entire series of _Downton Abbey_ from Mycroft, envisioning him entering the store and purchasing it. She was horribly disappointed when he stated that Anthea had been the one doing his shopping.

Greg received a large gift, handpicked by Rose to include an item from each of them. Rose gave him an expensive tie, from Sherlock and John a very nice tie pin, and last but not least a book from Mycroft. Greg extracted the book from the bottom of the large bag, examined the cover, and frowned at Rose. “Is this a commentary on my leadership capabilities?” he asked, holding up the brand new copy of Machiavelli’s _The Prince_.

“Wait, what?” Rose asked, crinkling her nose. “Of course not! You’re wonderful just as you are. I know Mycroft loves _his_ copy and it seemed a very Mycroftian thing to get-”

“Did you just make my name an adjective?” Mycroft asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Yes, and it’s rude to interrupt,” Rose scolded lightly. “It seemed like something he’d get for someone, especially someone that he considers reasonably intelligent like you. More than all that though, it’s a very interesting read and I thought you might enjoy it. Machiavelli is pretty cool.”

Despite the fact that being called ‘reasonably intelligent’ might be offensive, were it anyone but Mycroft Holmes’s opinion, Greg was well satisfied with Rose’s explanation and gave her a smile.

Sherlock’s gift to John was far less well received than perhaps even the gag gift for Mycroft. “All your music from those CDs are preloaded on here for you,” Sherlock explained as John examined his new ipod. “Then I tossed them in the bins, and your CD player, since you won’t need them anymore. You’ll have more room for other things.”

“Sherlock, you threw out my things?!” John shouted. “This is great, don’t get me wrong, but you cannot just throw out my things like that! It’s not the same and some of those CDs were sentimental!”

“Ah yes, I did find some very random ones with odd mixes of songs and little hearts drawn on the CDs themselves,” Sherlock admitted. “Those were from people?”

“Yes Sherlock, from people I like and cared about. How many times do we have to talk about how my things are _mine_ and are not yours to do anything with, not even touch! In fact, don’t _look_ at anything that’s mine from now on,” John ground out.

Sherlock paused and looked thoughtful for a moment before asking, “So you don’t like your gift then?”

“Wait! Wait John! Before you murder him!” Rose shouted just as Greg got up to abort John’s attempt to tackle Sherlock. “I salvaged your CDs, they’re in my flat! Couldn’t find the player though. So please spare my idiot brother who understands nothing about things that are personal in nature, or concepts of personal space and privacy outside of his own concerns.”

“Is it over yet? Can we be done with Christmas now? It’s been Christmas for practically a year by this point,” Mycroft began whining. “Aren’t we done yet?”

Rose gave him a _look_. “And you tell me I’m dramatic and childish. Do go get yourself a cookie and hush for a bit, will you?”

“Don’t speak to me like that,” Mycroft hissed.

“Then don’t whine like a five-year-old,” Rose hissed back. “Or pout, because it’s certainly not any cuter on you than it is on Sherlock. I, by far, have the cutest pout, because I’m practically adorable when I do it.”

“No you don’t!” Sherlock contradicted, glaring at her from his chair near the fireplace.

“Yes, she does,” John interrupted. “Though it’s far less effective than you think Rose, adorable or not.”

“Can I come next year? This is hysterical,” Greg piped up, grinning at everyone. “Who argues about who in a family of grown people- or supposedly grown people- has the best pout? I don’t understand any of you, but it’s downright hilarious and I need more fun in my life.”

“Alright, alright, I have two more presents left so everyone shut up so I can open them,” Rose demanded. “Honestly, this is beyond ridiculous I hope you all know that. Why can’t I ever have a nice holiday? Every year, _every_ year,” she grumbled while unwrapping a present from Sherlock. Her grumbling ended in short order as she found herself with a lap full of _Downton Abbey_ inspired jewelry from her favorite jewelry line.

Last but not least was her present from John. Rose tore away the wrapping paper to reveal two Fred Astaire musicals and two jumpers, one in a forest green color, the other a light blue. She looked over at John, confusion written on her face.

“I’m giving you those specifically so I can get my jumpers back from you, young lady. Those are exactly the same as mine, size and all. You’ve got your own now, so leave mine be,” John said, shaking a finger at her playfully. “Or else.”

“Or else what?” Rose inquired with a pout. “If it’s nothing terrible, I’ll probably just risk it anyway.”

“You’ll find out if anymore of my jumpers go missing, won’t you?” His tone was stern but he struggled to keep from smiling as he teased her. It was mostly teasing anyway. Though he actually _did_ wish Rose would stop stealing all his jumpers.

“But I like yours better! They’re so soft and smell lovely,” Rose pouted. “You have these; I’ll keep all the ones in my flat. Deal?”

“Really, Rose? Still stealing people’s clothing? She used to take Sherlock’s button-ups with her to primary school. Snuck them into her bag and then I’d get a call about her being out of uniform and refusing to take it off,” Mycroft commented and shook his head.

“I’d get handed the phone and Mycroft was all “Rosenwyn Holmes, you will stop being ridiculous this very second and take that off _now_. If I have to come to your school, you will be a very, very sorry little girl,”” Rose said, impersonating her brother’s imperious tone.

 “I never understood what their problem with it was. She wore it _over_ the uniform,” Sherlock stated. “When I posed that question to them, they never had a good answer for me, so I simply hung up.”                                                 

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “That’s why they stopped calling the house and called me instead.”

“Well, happy Christmas all!” Rose announced, grinning happily as she changed the subject. “Given the fact that we’re Holmeses, this has been rather successful, Mycroft’s whining aside. There’s hope for us yet, even if Mr. Crankypants is determined to derail the merriment.”

The eldest Holmes scowled at the littlest Holmes but could not, in fact, deny how appropriate that moniker was.

\-------------------------------------------

That night, for the first time in a long while, John awoke with a start, his heart beating wildly in his chest and tears prickling his eyes. The nightmares had subsided for the most part and he was surprised to have had one, particularly after the relatively calm day they’d had. Or rather, as calm a day with the Holmes siblings could be. John blamed it on sleeping in an unfamiliar place. There was little chance he’d fall asleep again at this point so, despite the fact that it was just past 3am, he decided to go in search of tea.

As he made his way downstairs and headed in the direction of the kitchen, John was both unsurprised and a bit annoyed to find a small light already on in the kitchen. “Sherlock, I’m not even kidding, you need some sleep,” he grumbled as he entered the room, only to discover it wasn’t Sherlock at all.

Sitting on the floor near the entrance, a cup of tea in hand, sat Rose. “I’m fine. It’s all fine,” she said quietly before he could even react.

His own nightmare and its resulting upset were quickly pushed aside as John knelt next to Rose. “Love, what’s going on? You’re not hurt, are you?” John’s discerning doctor’s eye looked her over; noticing that she was wearing his oatmeal colored jumper again, saw the slight trembling of her hands as they held the tea cup, the redness around her eyes, and the evidence of tears on her face. His ears heard the sniffles that she tried to hide.

“I’m fine, really,” Rose replied, though she wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince more: herself or John. “I had a nightmare, but I’m fine. Just going to drink my tea and go back to bed.”

“You don’t look fine, love,” he contradicted her gently while taking the tea cup from her hand. Without hardly any effort at all, John sat down and pulled Rose into his lap, wrapping his arms around her. “Want to talk about it?”

Rose shook her head and promptly buried her face against his shoulder, beginning to tremble all over, as if suddenly allowing herself to feel frightened in order to make that feeling pass. Tears weren’t far behind the trembling.

“See? This is not fine love. This is scared, this is upset, and those are okay things to feel, yeah?” John said soothingly. “There’s no reason to be scared all by yourself either. Do you want me to get Sherlock, or Mycroft?” He was surprised to feel rather thrilled when she shook her head no.

“Then I’ll stay with you. You don’t have to be afraid all on your own. I’m here and I’m always here for you,” he murmured, rubbing gentle circles on her back. “Cry it all out love, I won’t let you go.” John cringed when her tears became open sobbing. It was shocking how much her tears made his chest ache and he wished more than anything that he could take away whatever had frightened her so badly. Finally, after moments that stretched on for what seemed like hours, Rose’s tears began to subside once more.

“I hate it when this happens,” Rose whispered, taking her face out of his shoulder and resting her head against it instead.

“Was it a nightmare about...that night?” John asked very gently. He began drying her tears with the pad of his thumb.

She nodded. “I keep dreaming that I’m there alone, that you’re not there, and he kills me. I’d be dead right now if you hadn’t been there John. What if you’re not there next time and I’m all alone and--”

“What next time?” John interrupted, frowning a bit at her. “There’s not going to be a next time, love. You aren’t going to become a target of people like that over and over again because it happened once. You’re smart and you’ll stay safe and you’ll ask for help if you need it.”

“But what if it does?” Rose whispered, looking away from him.

Unwilling to let her look away, John gently took hold of her chin so she would look at him again. “Then I’ll be there. I will always be there for anything you need, _always_. I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again and god help anyone who might even remotely think about trying to,” he told her vehemently.

“You can’t promise to do that forever,” she contradicted.

“I can and I will. I mean it Rose. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to keep you safe,” John reiterated. “I don’t care how many people I have to kill, how far I have to go, or what it costs me, I’ll always keep you safe.”

“That’s why I’ve been stealing your jumpers, you know,” Rose whispered, her face coloring a bit with embarrassment. “When I’ve had nightmares and feel… well… vulnerable, I guess, I steal one and wear it. You saved my life with a jumper and even though it isn’t at all logical, it makes me feel better.”

John smiled at her. “Don’t know why I didn’t think of that. Makes perfect sense to me love, and you can take them as often as you need one. But you can also come have a cuddle from me, you know.” He kissed her temple, cuddling her closer, silently marveling at how perfectly she fit there in his arms. “You don’t have to settle for the jumper.”

Rose returned his smile with a little one of her own. “You could come to regret making that offer, John. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of other things to do than cuddle me every time I feel that way.”

“And what if I want to? Did you think about that? What if I want to cuddle you every time you feel frightened or upset?” John asked.

She frowned slightly as she considered his words. John wasn’t her brother; he didn’t have a duty to make her feel better the way Mycroft and Sherlock did. “Why?”

“Why, she says,” John chuckled. “Because I love you, you silly thing.”

“You do?” Rose asked.

He nodded and kissed her forehead, one hand caressing her cheek.  When Rose smiled and leaned into his touch, John kissed her nose. His hand gently cradled her head and suddenly John captured her lips with his own. Just as his mind started screaming _‘what are you doing?!’_ Rose responded. Her arms went around his neck and she leaned in closer, returning his kisses. Rose’s lips brushed against his, warm and soft, offering tender, slow kisses that matched his own.

Everything was still and silent and practically perfect until they were forced to break apart enough to breathe. That was when it hit them and almost in unison, Rose and John looked at one another with horror written across their faces.

“Oh god, Rose--”

“I’m so--”

He shook his head. “No, my fault completely, I--”

Rose took a deep breath as if to steady herself and got up from his lap. “We shouldn’t have done that. Let’s…let’s never talk about it.”

“Good plan. Let’s not talk about it,” John quickly agreed, standing up as well.

She nodded, pleased he’d agreed. “Good night,” Rose said softly before fleeing the kitchen, leaving John standing under the mistletoe neither of them had realized they were under.

“Oh god,” John murmured quietly. “What have I done?” He was discomforted by the fact that he’d kissed someone who was practically his little sister. Though she wasn’t _actually_ his sister, just sort of _like_ a little sister, yet not really. Had Rose really been okay with it? She _seemed_ to be, responded as if she was, had been endearingly hesitant yet eager, but was she _really_ okay with it? He was practically her brother! Except that he wasn’t, though he often _acted_ like he was… except when he didn’t.

The more his mind raced as he stood there in the kitchen, the more confused John felt and the more reasons why this had been a very bad thing became evident. Suddenly, his confusion and discomfort were replaced by fear. He’d never make it back to London alive if Mycroft and Sherlock ever found out what he’d done!

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me for the way this chapter ends!!


	31. Poker Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **translations provided at end of chapter. Threw in just a bit of French!

‘Can I be casual today? Since its only half-day for me.’

‘You imposed your dress code kid, not me. G’

‘But I want to be a good representative of your department!’

Greg chuckled as read Rose’s text message. It pleased him that she took her job so seriously, but short of a press conference, which she would most likely not be any part of, he wasn’t overly concerned.

‘Alright, since you’re so insistent on getting things right, I’ll give you a dress code. G’

‘Hit me with it!’

‘The dress code you need to adhere to is: clothes. Wear some and you’re fine, kid. G’

‘There’s a very large loophole in that dress code Greg.’

Greg could practically hear her snickering over her phone as she sent that and smiled at his phone while responding.

‘Fine, amendment to the dress code: if you don’t want Mycroft to see it, don’t wear it here. Happy? G’

‘“amendment to the dress code” LOL!’

‘Behave. Also, don’t forget my macchiato. G’

‘Will you coo at it like you did yesterday? If so, must record for posterity purposes.’

‘I did NOT coo. G’

‘You did.’

‘Did not. G’

‘DID!’

‘See if I buy you coffee. G’

‘My sincerest apologies, dearest Greg.’

‘Dearest Greg? G’

‘Dearest, darling, whatever endearment will get me coffee later.’

‘I see how it is. Just get your arse in here already kid, I need my macchiato. G’

‘LOL! Off to find food next door. Ttyl.’

 

\----------------------------------------------

No matter how long he lived, John Watson was certain he would never understand a single, solitary member of the Holmes family, including Rose. Prior to the kiss, which he had taken to calling ‘the incident’ in his head, he wouldn’t have included Rose in such musings. Now, however, he could only watch in complete and utter confusion as Rose went on with her life as if nothing had ever happened.

It was 28 December and they had been back in London for two days now. During that time Rose had been her usual sunny self, acting as if she had not a care in the world. If she looked a bit more tired than usual, well, John could attribute that to nightmares, which were only natural given what she had been through. He couldn’t actually blame it on potential inner turmoil over ‘the incident’; that seemed to be his territory and his alone.

“Morning!” Rose called as she showed up in their flat after dressing for the day. Sherlock murmured a greeting, never looking up from John’s laptop, which John had given up trying to get back from him already this morning.

“Morning love,” John greeted her with a smile, trying to sound as welcoming and warm as usual without sounding suspicious to his flatmate’s ears. How he’d got back to London without Rose’s brothers finding out and tearing him apart John had no idea, but he was determined to try and be his normal self in order to continue breathing. He gave Rose a smile and received a genuine one in return. “Coffee’s up.”

“You’re the best John,” Rose decided as she fixed a cup and sat down with her breakfast across the table from him.

“You look nice today,” John commented before he could stop himself. “Casual but nice.” She was wearing a periwinkle colored top with white lace sleeves, and a pair of skinny jeans that emphasized the soft, slight curves of her petite frame. Those endearing curls that always escaped when she put her hair up were as present as ever and John realized that he _loved_ those escapee curls, and… God what was wrong with him?!

“Thanks,” Rose replied, giving him a dazzling smile.

Though he’d often complimented her before, would it be suspicious to continue to do so now? Would it make her uncomfortable? John had never felt as damnconfused in his entire life as he had the last few days. They’d agreed never to talk about the incident and initially John had thought that was the best plan of action. Now, however, he wasn’t entirely convinced that it was. At least not if he continued to feel so out of sorts, while Rose just pranced in and out of the flat as if nothing had ever happened. That was what he wanted though, wasn’t it? For them both to pretend it hadn’t happened? He closed his eyes and groaned.

“John?” Rose asked, looking concerned. “John, are you alright? You almost look like you’re in pain. Headache?”

It was something like a headache, John thought to himself. “Uh, yeah,” he replied, not opening his eyes.

“Alright, keep your eyes closed, I’ll be right back,” Rose said soothingly. She got up from the table and wandered off down the hall, coming back with a wet flannel that she put over his eyes. “That will help. Keep that on for about twenty minutes, then take four ibuprofen and drink copious amounts of caffeine. Works every time,” she assured him.

For about ten seconds that sounded like good advice; then it sunk in and John took the flannel off, looking far less then pleased. “Excuse me?! _How_ many ibuprofen?”

Rose’s mouth formed a little ‘o’ as she looked at John for several seconds before conjuring up a response. “Did I say four? I meant two; definitely two.”

“No, you meant four, didn’t you? Just how many of those do you take at a time, Rosenwyn Holmes? And how often have you done it for that matter?” John inquired, glaring at her.

“Just a couple times!”

John’s mouth became a thin line as one eyebrow rose.

“Or maybe lots of times… John, I’m a dancer, we do mean things to our bodies all the time,” Rose amended. “There’s no time out for aches and pains in dancing. You drug up as needed and move on.”

“Sherlock, are you listening to this?” John asked. “Is this true?!”

“Probably. But she hasn’t died yet; dull.” Sherlock gave Rose a wink, hiding a grin from the thoroughly flummoxed John.

“Well not anymore you’re not, Rose. That’s not safe, that’s nowhere _near_ safe. You’re a very small person,” John scolded, ignoring her indignant squeak at being called ‘small.’ “You don’t weigh nearly enough for that to be at all advisable. You won’t sit for a month of Sundays if I _ever_ hear of you doing that again after this conversation. Do you understand me?”

Rose nodded, looking rather dismayed at the prospect of getting into that much trouble for something she normally did without thinking about it. The look passed quickly, however, and she saluted him with a cheeky smile. “Oui, mon capitaine!”

“You’re impossible, you know that?” John asked, unable to resist returning her smile while throwing the flannel at her.

“You too,” Rose laughed as she threw it back before digging into her scrambled eggs. “Il est trop bon à cette chose de gronder. Vous êtes une mauvaise influence,”she accused her brother in French.**

“Non, vous vous comportez simplement mal,” Sherlock answered, smiling deviously at her.*** The smile disappeared when he was kicked, albeit lightly, in the shin.

“Oy, you two, let’s stick to English this early in the morning, alright? You’re nightmares to live with, the _both_ of you!” John complained half-heartedly.

\--------------------------------------------

“Oh, thank god,” Greg said emphatically when Rose arrived in his office. He accepted his macchiato from her and took a drink, murmuring as he did so.

“See? You coo, at the coffee. Next time Mycroft is all ‘stop drinking so much coffee Rosenwyn’ I’ll tell him it could be worse, because I could be like Greg and coo over it,” Rose said with a smirk. She flopped into one of the chairs in front of his desk and dangled her legs over one of the chair arms.

“Well, just make yourself at home, kid,” Greg laughed.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Rose commented, giving him a wink. “We need to talk though, about all this ‘kid’ business. I’m not entirely sure if I appreciate it.”

“How unfortunate, because that’s what I call you, and I’m the boss.” Greg took a long drink of his macchiato and sighed happily.

“But why?” Rose asked, frowning.

“Because to me you _are_ a kid. I’m more than twice your age. I’m probably older than Mycroft,” the detective inspector pointed out.

“Age; _dull._ You seem to be making your way into this collective of people who alternately fuss at me or over me. Like I need more of those! ‘Kid’ is the beginning of a slippery slope, I think. But, for you, I’ll let it go,” Rose decided, giving him a grin. “Just be aware if it was anyone else, like Sherlock or John, I’d hit them and mean it.”

Greg chuckled. “So I should consider myself special then?”

“Very,” Rose agreed. “Just don’t let it go to your head. Outside of work I’m under no obligation to listen to you,” she warned with a cheeky grin.

“Duly noted,” he commented. “Now go get to work, kid.” Greg chuckled as Rose rolled her eyes and exited his office.

\------------------------------------------

Rose watched with wide eyes as Louise began choking and sputtering, nearly spraying her with the coffee her friend had been drinking. “That was not the reaction I anticipated you’d have about John kissing me,” she admitted.

Louise coughed a few more times before getting herself under control. “I think I need to stop drinking for this conversation,” she decided, pushing her cup away. “Alright, details, details, details!”

“There’s not a whole lot of a detail, it just sort of happened,” Rose replied. “I’d had a nightmare and he was up, not sure why, and cuddled me close like he’s done loads of times before. But it was different. It just felt different, even before he kissed me.”

The other girl rolled her eyes. “That’s not what I’m looking for and you know it. Don’t be shy, there’s nothing left to be shy about anymore between us,” Louise pointed out. “Did you like it? Was he good at it? Where were his hands? Where were your hands? Where was John buried?”

Rose laughed loudly. “John wasn’t buried anywhere! As far as I’m aware neither of my brothers know, which is good. And I did like it, a lot actually. It was so different from any other kiss I’ve had, slow and sweet and soft. Most guys are all ‘Rawr, I’m gonna eat your FACE!’ about it and that’s such a turn off for me.”

“And that’s why I am postponing drinking my coffee for the entirety of this conversation,” Louise snickered. “That’s hysterical. “Rawr, eat your face!” Sadly, that’s all too accurate most of the time. I think they’re copying stuff from films, all that hot and heavy kiss kiss business and people are always so gung-ho about it that it’s like they are eating the other person’s face,” she mused. “So, soft and sweet, huh? That’s so you. Answer the other questions!”

“He was really good at it, but it wasn’t a planned thing, it just sort of evolved. He kissed my forehead and my nose and then we were just kissing-kissing. He had a hand behind my head, the other around my waist and I put my arms around him,” Rose recalled. “Then we were like ‘Oh damn! What is going on?!’”

Louise giggled. “What do you mean?”

“It was like we suddenly got very confused and didn’t know what was happening. Then he started apologizing,” she admitted. “I wasn’t even sure what to do or say. I couldn’t tell if he was apologizing out of reflex or actual regret for doing it and John looked _so_ uncomfortable. I suggested that we never talk about it ever and then went back upstairs.”

“He apologized and rather than clarify what he was apologizing for specifically, you just swept it under the rug?!” Louise asked. “Girl that’s not gonna work. You have to talk to him about it. Unless you don’t like him?” She smirked when Rose began blushing. “So you _do_ like him.”

Rose nodded. “I didn’t know until then, until that happened and something just clicked. I mean, I’ve always rather adored him and all his fussing over me. I knew he was special and I couldn’t imagine him not being around, I just didn’t know it was more than that.”

“You have to tell him how you’re feeling. He might be feeling the exact same way, overwhelmed by such a sudden shift in his thinking about you and uncertain how _you_ feel about it,” Louise pointed out. “Honestly, it’s a win-win situation for you both I think.”

“How so?” Rose asked, taking a long drink of her chai latte.

“Your brothers are lunatics so whoever you end up with in life is going to have to put up with them and understand they are what they are. John already knows them, puts up with them, and even _likes_ Sherlock. John’s going to need someone who understands the whole detective and his blogger relationship and be willing to put up with it and Sherlock,” Louise explained. “It makes complete sense, doesn’t it? You’re already both in a situation that accommodates all parties you just need the love part to get going, yeah?”

Rose paused and frowned in thought as she mulled over her best friend’s words. “God, when did you get so wise, Lou? Bit scary.”

“I’m brilliant, but I keep it undercover so I can keep everyone on their toes,” Louise grinned. “Or I just share my wisdom with my kindred spirit only. Mostly that one.”

Rose grinned and hugged her friend tightly. “You’re the best!”

“Talk to the man, Rose. Seriously, you two need to talk about this before things get super awkward or the moment passes completely. Be prepared for your brothers though, they don’t have a good track record when it comes to your potential romantic interests,” Louise reminded her.

“What if he doesn’t feel the same way though?” Rose asked, frowning once more.

“There’s a million what if questions you can ask and you’ll never be able to answer any of them at all until you talk to him. Find a good time to do it and just do it. You’re brave, I know you can handle it Rose. I wouldn’t send you into battle if I wasn’t sure you could hold your own,” Louise said seriously.

Rose gave her a small smile. “What if he says no? Or doesn’t even remember it?”

“What, like sleep-walking? He was sleep-kissing you? Doubtful dearie.” The girls giggled over the idea of sleep-kissing before growing serious once more. Louise grabbed Rose’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “If he says no, I’ll kick his arse.”

“Promise?”

Louise grinned deviously. “You know it! What do you think he’s like in bed?”

This time it was Rose’s turn to cough and sputter the latte she’d been drinking while Louise smirked. “Funnily enough that hasn’t come up, nor is it likely to!”

“How does that _not_ come up?” Louise murmured. “Don’t you ever see him with anyone? Didn’t he have a girlfriend a while back?”

“How is that supposed to come up? ‘Oh hey John, thanks for making breakfast. By the way, are you a good shag?’” Rose replied, rolling her eyes. “Highly unlikely.”

Louise laughed. “That could definitely happen! And if he’s had a girlfriend over than you should know, considering how often you’re over at Sherlock’s.”

“People don’t bring girlfriends home when they live with Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock doesn’t suffer fools- which is basically the entire population of the earth- and I’ve always got the impression that sex alarms him. John’s smart not to bring anyone to the flat for sex, and rarely does he bring anyone over for purely innocuous reasons,” Rose explained. “Not to mention the fact that it only just occurred to my brother, both of them actually, that perhaps it was time for ‘sex talk’.” She recapped the incident over Christmas which sent Louise into hysterics.

“We have to stop giggling like crazy people,” Rose laughed, blushing a bit as they drew the attention of other patrons.

“But that’s insanely funny! And so like your brothers. You’re lucky Mum thought about that and spared you from the Mycroft Holmes version of sex ed, which would have been either completely confusing or absolutely hilarious,” Louise decided. “Or so completely traumatizing that you decided to join a convent or something and be celibate.”

“Me? Join a convent? You’re mad,” Rose snickered. “Utterly mad.”

“That’s half my charm!” Louise replied with a grin.

Rose smiled and shook her head. “In any case, thank god for your mum. I would have been scarred for life! You know, sometimes you and I have the strangest conversations.”

Louise merely grinned. “It’s true. I blame it on knowing each other practically forever. And since we have, I know you won’t be offended when I say that if you and John _do_ become romantically involved, it’ll be good to see you with a nice, normal guy for once. Your track record with men is sort of rubbish.”

“You’re rude,” Rose muttered, putting her head down on the table. “Must we talk about this?”

“We should. I worry about you, always picking the wrong ones,” Louise said sincerely. “And then I have to beat the shit out of them if your brothers don’t do it first.”

Rose would have laughed had she not known Louise so well. Louise had been beating people up on her behalf since primary school. Naturally, Rose always returned the favor. At one point, every six-eight year old in their school was terrified of them. Mycroft had _not_ been amused. “Still rude.”

“Still true though. There was that one boy in our first year of primary school that only used you for the treats Sherlock put in your lunch.”

“Sherlock still makes the best biscuits of anyone around, even Mrs. Hudson, so really, that was understandable. I would’ve used me too,” Rose giggled as she sat up again.

“Jimmy when you were eight,” Louise began.

“I still maintain that it was an accident. I don’t think he purposely pushed me off the slide to break my nose,” Rose said firmly, finally sitting up again. “I think Mycroft might’ve disappeared Jimmy if you hadn’t broke his nose first.”

“I may look cute, but I’m so not,” Louise replied with a devilish grin. “I kick arse and take names and look pretty damn fantastic doing it.”

Rose choked on her latte again but really couldn’t argue with the statement.

“Who else? Who was that boy when you were nine?”

“Philip,” Rose recalled. “You called him Philly and soon the whole school was doing it. Sometimes you’re a genius.”

“Lots of times!” Louise grinned. “But he sucked too. Shoved you in a locker. You were really heartbroken over that one; you really thought he liked you.”

“He just wanted answers to homework but I don’t facilitate cheating. Are we going to talk about all of them?” she questioned. “And really, before age 12 it’s not as though it’s serious, it’s just play.”

“I’m trying to make a point,” Louise said gently. “You deserve the best but you rarely pick out the best specimens of the male sex. John’s a good one and you should give it a go. That’s all I’ll say on the matter for now, though I expect daily updates. Or hourly if appropriate,” she told Rose with a grin. “But, moving on to other topics: still game for partying New Years Eve?”

Rose grinned and nodded. “Most definitely! Come on, we gotta head to the studio and be brilliant dancers. No rest for the wicked.”

“I’ll get you my pretty! And your little dog too!” Louise responded, wicked witch voice and all. The girls laughed together and exited the café arm in arm to walk to their studio.

\-------------------------------------------------

While it may have seemed to John that Rose had completely put ‘the incident’ and any feelings regarding it aside, that was far from the case. In addition to discussing the matter with her best friend, Rose spent a significant amount of time contemplating the matter. She was willing to admit that Louise was right: she had a bad track record of falling for guys who were interested in something other than herself, culminating in Mark. No matter how many times people told her there had been no way to know he was a killer or even simply a stalker, Rose couldn’t help but think she should have known. There should have been a sign, _something_ ; she was a Holmes after all! Or had she willingly turned a blind eye to obvious signs? If that was the case, what in heaven’s name did that say about her judgment?

She mentally wrestled back and forth as she considered Louise’s advice. Should she talk to John? What if he’d just been tired and not thinking about? Or hadn’t meant it? Or didn’t like it? There were so many ways this could go wrong, yet there were so many ways it could go right. John was special and he had been since the moment she’d come to 221B. He was kind and gentle, funny, strong, affectionate. They’d taken to one another almost instantly and before long it felt as though he was one of the family.

Rose thought of all the times he’d made her feel special and cherished and realized there were so much more of those moments than she’d actually acknowledged. The way he fussed about her health in that odd combination of caring and scolding that John seemed to have down pat. He’d made her tea when she was sick; the way if felt when they danced together; how much it meant when he’d said he was proud of her the night of the charity ball they’d attended. The way he’d saved her life. In the most terrifying moment of her entire life, he was calm and collected and made her believe against all odds that she’d be okay, that she wouldn’t die; more than that, he wouldn’t _allow_ her to die. The times he’d cuddled her close, the way he dropped kisses on top of her head, their playful bantering, and his fierce protectiveness.

She’d known that she loved him and he loved her. But did all that mean he actually _loved_ her? Was the kiss just a nighttime fluke or truly indicative of how he felt? While Rose had admittedly been thrown off by it once the kiss ended, she didn’t regret it, she just wasn’t sure how to respond and at the time it seemed much easier to just pretend it never happened. John had been all too quick to agree and almost looked ashamed in a way as she hastily exited the kitchen that night. Had he been ashamed? Or was it embarrassment? Or was he, like her, rather overwhelmed by the sudden rush of feelings?

Talking to him was the only way to answer these questions and Rose well knew it. But talking could reveal it hadn’t meant nearly as much to him as it had to her. If he turned her away, if he said it was a mistake, could she take the rejection? More importantly, could they continue on as they had pre-kiss, or would everything be completely ruined?

Rose closed her eyes and tried to fight the rising panic while simultaneously gathering her courage. “I’ll do it,” she spoke her vow aloud. “I’ll do it before the New Year. I’ve got two and a half days. I can do it, I can do it, I can do it.” Perhaps, if she said it enough times, she might just manage to convince herself it was true.

\-------------------------------------------------------------

“I won’t say a word,” John murmured out loud as he lay in bed that night. “I’ll not say a word unless Rose brings it up and I’ll stop thinking about her… About her curves and her curls and the way she fits in my arms. Not going to think about it, because it’s inappropriate. I have the will power to stop thinking this way. I have it and I _will_ use it.”

Only John wasn’t entirely convinced he _wanted_ to use it. Things were no clearer in his mind then they had been since the moment he’d kissed her. What a bloody awful mess he’d made…

 

 

**“He’s too good at this scolding thing. You’re a bad influence.”

***“No, you simply behave badly.”


	32. Wanna See You Be Brave

Bravery was much easier to think of and imagine having than actually _being_ brave enough to do something. Rose had always considered herself to be a rather brave sort of person, particularly since one had to be to survive in the madness that was the Holmes family, but she’d spent the entire day of 29 December being far more fearful than brave. Her self-imposed deadline to tell John how she felt was running out as the morning of 30 December now dawned unusually bright and sunny for a winter’s day, finding one Rosenwyn Holmes anything but bright and sunny.

Lost in her own thoughts, she became vaguely aware of someone loudly saying her name and snapping their fingers near her face. Blinking, Rose looked at her breakfast and then up at the person who seemed intent on annoying her so early in the morning. Naturally, that person was John.

“There you are. What is going on with you?” John asked, giving her a look full of concern. “You’ve been staring at those fried potatoes you insisted on having for five minutes straight and haven’t touched even a drop of your now lukewarm coffee.” Reaching into his pocket he retrieved his pen light and began examining her eyes.

“John you’re ridiculous,” she grumbled, trying to push his hands away. Tired blue eyes met worry-filled brown ones.

“No, I’m not,” he responded, easily catching both of her wrists with one hand to stop her from pushing him way. “Now let me look you over; you’ve got me worried. Or is something bothering you rather than a medical catastrophe waiting to happen?” John thought he’d become rather good at reading Rose, but she was a Holmes and one should never assume when it came to a Holmes.

Rose sighed heavily. “Alright, let me over to your heart’s content. But I really am fine, just… daydreaming.”

“That was the blankest daydreaming look I ever saw,” John decided, releasing her wrists. “A zombie more like, minus the whole flesh eating bit.”

“And the decaying corpse-like appearance as well I hope,” Rose giggled before holding relatively still while John examined her a bit. “Do I pass muster?”

“Hmm, barely,” John decided, pocketing his pen light once more.

“You worry a lot for no reason,” she replied softly, shifting her gaze to her lap.

“On the contrary, I think you give me plenty of reasons to be worried. You look a bit pale and tired, but aside from that I believe you’re alright,” John commented. He reached over to cup her cheek in his hand, stroking his thumb over her soft, lightly freckled skin. “Just take good care of yourself, love. And if you can’t manage to do it for _you_ , then do it for me,” he whispered.

Maybe, she didn’t need words, Rose decided as she looked up and leaned into his touch. Maybe actions really did speak louder than words after all, as the old saying went. Taking advantage of his close proximity to her, Rose moved even closer to John. His eyes lit up and she smiled shyly as he leaned towards her. Oh yes, they were going to kiss. She closed her eyes in anticipation and then…

“Rose, stop ignoring Mycroft!” Sherlock called as he opened the door of his bedroom, completely oblivious to the sudden moment of chaos in the kitchen as John and Rose jumped away from one another. By the time they were within his view, Rose was fixing a fresh cup of coffee and John was diligently consuming his morning meal.

“Mycroft? What’s he want?” Rose asked, trying to look and sound very casual.

“He sent me a dozen texts, stating he’d texted _you_ ten times and received no response, could I please make certain you weren’t incapacitated,” Sherlock explained. “Only I was sleeping.”

“For once,” John muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Now I’m not. John, make me tea,” Sherlock asked in his own special way of ‘asking’, while stealing food from Rose’s place.

“Clearly not incapacitated, just enjoying breakfast and coffee.” She took her seat at the table and picked up her mobile. Sure enough there were ten texts from her eldest brother which she promptly deleted. Naturally it would be Mycroft that would annoy Sherlock and cause him to get out of bed and interrupt something as important as she and John almost-kissing. There was nothing more guaranteed to kill the mood- almost any mood for that matter- as the mention of _Mycroft._

“What’s he want?” she asked again, deciding to get the short answer from Sherlock.

“You’ve been summoned to his office and there’s a car waiting downstairs. What have you done now, sister dear?” Sherlock inquired, arched eyebrow and all. He smirked delightedly when Rose’s eyes widened in alarm.

“Nothing! Nothing that I can think of!” Rose exclaimed. She suddenly found herself wishing that she hadn’t deleted those texts out of hand without even reading them. Sure, she hadn’t done anything _recently_ but that didn’t mean there wasn’t something a bit less recently for Mycroft to have a fit about. A vast number of things, if she was really honest about it.

“I highly suggest you don’t keep our dear brother waiting any longer Rose,” Sherlock said firmly. “It’s best to go straight in, get the dressing down over with; you know making him wait never makes it any better.”

“Easy for you to say!” Rose grumbled as she got up from the table. “Not your arse on the line. I hate you right now.”

Sherlock shook his head. “Temper, temper. Hate you too, though.” He smirked as Rose stuck her tongue out at him, located her purse and jacket- which rarely seemed to find their way to _her_ flat- and hurried down the stairs. The moment he could hear the door downstairs close Sherlock began laughing.

“What’s so funny?” John asked, shoving a plate of food in front of his flatmate.

“Mycroft wants Rose and Anthea to go shopping today for that diplomatic reception coming up,” Sherlock explained amid laughter. “The look on her face! And the confusion that will be on Mycroft’s face when she shows up and begs forgiveness for any number of things!”

“That’s a bit cruel Sherlock,” John attempted to scold. He failed abysmally as he started laughing as well.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Across town twenty-minutes later a number of people began giving side-eye looks as a young woman, who clearly didn’t belong there, hurried along the various corridors of Whitehall. In a world full of suits of varying quality and price tags and persons with impeccable hair and make-up, Rose couldn’t possibly stick out anymore if she actually tried to. Her wild curls were loose and seemed to move of their own accord in time to Rose’s hurried walking, and she was dressed about as casually as one could be. A green jumper that had the word ‘hello’ scrawled across the front of it in white, a pair of boot cut jeans with one frayed knee and a pair of pink and green sneakers completed her look. For the normal person on any London street, she wouldn’t have looked amiss; in Whitehall, she looked like she had no business being in the building!

Luck seemed to be with her, at least for the moment, as Rose made it to Mycroft’s office area without being stopped. “Whatever it is, I didn’t do it,” she announced as Anthea let her in. “And if I did, I’m sure I’m very, very sorry about it.”

“What exactly are you talking about Rosenwyn?” Mycroft asked in his ‘I’m-already-tired-of-this-conversation’ tone.

“Sherlock said he you wanted to see me and you were upset about something. I couldn’t figure out what it might be, so I thought I’d just begin with plausible deniability and then apologize in advance for the things you could prove that I did.”

Mycroft gave her a penetrating look and remained silent long enough for her to start squirming in her seat. “And what _have_ you done of late, sister mine?”

It suddenly dawned on Rose that Sherlock had played her as expertly as he played his violin. Damn him! “Well when I get home I’m going kick our brother but other than that, nothing at all! Absolutely nothing at all. I’ve been absolutely delightful.”

“You’re never delightful.”

“And you’re always mean.”

The siblings stared at one another, eyes narrowed, for a full minute before moving on with the task at hand. “Anthea is going to take you shopping today. The diplomatic reception is coming up soon and since there’s never anything that exists in your size I thought it best you select your gown and then we’ll have it made properly for you.”

“Shopping? Sweet,” Rose grinned, relaxing in the chair. “I like the sound of that. Money is no object, as we agreed, yes? I’ll also need shoes and a clutch, probably a shawl as well.”

“You may spend the necessary amount to find what you need, but if you’re thinking about purchasing some ridiculous pair of heels worth one thousand pounds, think again,” Mycroft warned. “Anthea will have strict instructions on what is and isn’t appropriate price tags. If I don’t spend a thousand pounds on my shoes, you don’t need to either.”

Rose huffed a bit, but nodded. It wasn’t her money, after all. “Any other rules I should know about?”

“The usual. Be appropriately covered, be appropriate to the occasion, and before you ask, no shoes with spikes on them. I will trust Anthea’s judgment in all matters regarding your attire for the event, particularly in light of what you’re presently wearing. It’s a miracle you weren’t stopped by security.” Mycroft’s eyebrow rose and he gave her a questioning look that summed up his every thought on the way she was dressed.

The youngest Holmes rolled her eyes. “I was still eating breakfast when you summoned me, brother dear, and it’s my day off. This is what I like to wear when it’s my day off. You would understand the concept should you ever have one of those.”

Mycroft sighed heavily. “I’d really prefer it if you didn’t dress like ordinary people, Rose. Anthea will be instructed to assist you in selecting some more appropriate attire for everyday wear,” he decided. Secretly, he didn’t mind her outfit, even if it wasn’t particularly well suited for visiting the office. Calling her out on such clothing, however, gave him a good excuse to let her pick out some new things. It had been quite a while since he’d last replenished her wardrobe.

“Clothes snob,” Rose muttered under her breath. The cheeky smile that accompanied her muttering gave away that she was on to his little game. For all his whining and complaining about her, he rarely meant most of it and had always been that way.

“You’re intolerably insolent lately Rose and I’m quite tired of it,” Mycroft said with a put-upon sigh. “Do leave my office immediately.”

The siblings shared a knowing smile before Rose began laughing. “I love you too. Just so you know, My, I’m going to bankrupt you.” With a wink she made a quick exit from his office.

\---------------------------------------------

“Too revealing.”

“Completely inappropriate.”

“Too short.”

Rose frowned at Anthea. “I’m too short for any dress to really be too short on me, unless I make it so,” she pointed out.

“Never the less, it’s too short.” The hemline fell just at Rose’s knees. “This is a formal dinner and reception,” Anthea explained patiently. “If it were perhaps a meet-and-greet type of event, that dress would suffice, but this is more important than that.”

“So pretty much a state dinner then?” Rose asked as she disappeared back in the dressing room.

“Essentially yes. They’re not as fun and glamorous as you’re imagining,” the PA warned. “Most people there are incredibly boring, and there’s quite a lot of smiling and playing nice.”

“Mycroft is so skilled at that, it’s almost frightening,” Rose commented, exiting the dressing room once more. “It’s long, but I can probably have it bespoke, or altered at worst.” It was the twentieth dress she’d tried and playing dress-up was becoming less and less fun with each attempt.

Anthea’s face lit up when she saw the dress. It was a lovely sapphire blue, a simple but elegant silhouette. The dress had the appearance of a wrap dress without actually being once, forming a lovely bodice and an empire waist. The v-neck was exquisite and covered her up while still exposing some skin. “That’s the one,” she said, knowing immediately that her employer would be more than satisfied with the choice.

Rose sighed heavily. “How many more dresses do I—wait, what? You approve? Finally!” She gave Anthea a huge grin and twirled just a bit, hampered somewhat by the six or so inches of excess fabric.

“Hold still, I’m going to take a photo and send it to your brother,” Anthea instructed. Using the blackberry she never seemed to part with, she snapped a photo and inserted it into a text message. Once she’d taken the photo and sent it on to Mycroft, she sent Rose back into the dressing room to change into her own clothes while she went to negotiate with the dressmaker.

\-----------------------------------------

Half an hour later Anthea and Rose entered the mall, intending to shop for shoes and accessories to go with her dress and some new additions to her wardrobe. Rose’s mind, however, was on more than just shopping.

“So what exactly is it you do for Mycroft? Do you ever turn that thing off? Are you sorting out crises into ones that require My’s attention and those a minion or two can deal with? Is your name actually Anthea? Are you and Mycroft like… together? Actually, don’t answer that last one,” Rose decided, looking as if she’d just bit into something particularly sour.

Anthea gave Rose a smile. “I am your brother’s personal assistant and do all the things one would associate with such a title, as well as other things as needed. I do maintain your brother’s schedule and alert him to matters of importance. No, Anthea is not my real name, but that is the name I’ve chosen to go by. As for whether or not your brother and I are “together” as you put it, ask him.” With any luck, Rose _would_ ask him and Anthea would be there to see the horror on his face!

Rose made a gagging noise. “Not happening. If you won’t answer, I’ll let the matter rest. I was really hoping you’d laugh and say no. I’m really a bit alarmed that that wasn’t your response. Anyway, basically, you’re a gatekeeper with a much less awesome title, aren’t you? That’s good though, My could use a good gatekeeper. He’s had some really idiotic PA’s over the years; speaks very highly of you though,” Rose admitted with a smile. ~~~~

Anthea smiled at her, well aware of how much her boss appreciated her particular set of skills in various sorts of fields. Still, it was nice to know he spoke highly of her to those he cared about, few people as that was. “Isn’t that the store you wanted?” she asked, indicating a shoe store up ahead.

“Yes! That’s the one! I love shoes,” Rose laughed. She led Anthea into the store and spent the better part of forty minutes trying on various pairs, both for the event and just for fun. No amount of pleading would get Anthea to budge on Mycroft’s instructions of no shoes that cost one thousand pounds, despite how cute and perfect and amazing they were. Still, five pairs of new shoes wasn’t bad and Rose certainly wasn’t complaining.

As the made to exit their way out of the store a large group of people suddenly converged on that area of the mall, standing together almost as if they were in some kind of formation. “Oh my god,” Rose gasped. “It’s a flash mob! I’ve always wanted to be in one of those!” Just then the music cued over the mall’s sound system and Rose bounced just a bit in delight. “It’s Madcon’s Beggin’! I saw this routine on youtube a couple months back at a stupidly named mall in the states. I can do this one!”

Before Anthea could say a word, Rose shoved the bags of shoes into her hands and ran out into the crowd. She watched, uncertain if she should be horrified, concerned, or just enjoy the impromptu dance fest. Rose seemed to come alive before her eyes, blending in with the group at large with such precision and enthusiasm, in addition to spot-on timing, that fellow onlookers were pointing, commenting, and filming what appeared to be a flash-mob crasher. Imagining her boss’s reaction if he saw this made Anthea smile, chuckle and wonder, not for the first time, how exactly Mycroft had raised someone like Rose.

\---------------------------------------------

Several hours later, after shopping had been completed and Mycroft’s personal bank account had been depleted to the tune of nearly 1500 pounds, Sherlock felt his mobile vibrate and retrieved it from his pocket, all by himself for once, John noted happily. The barrage of texts sent Sherlock’s heart racing.

‘Help!’

‘Studio now.’

‘Help me.’

‘Please!’

 

Sherlock jumped out of his chair and retrieved John’s gun, shoving it into the ex-soldier’s hands. “Rose is in trouble at the studio, we have to go _now_. Call Lestrade, I’ll contact Mycroft.”

Within minutes three separate vehicles and four rather frantic men were in their cars racing to Rose’s dance studio, minds racing at what sort of scenario they’d show up to find.

\--------------------------------------------------

“Owwwww!” Rose wailed, rolling onto her back. A hand went to her side and began rubbing it. “Alfred, in case you haven’t noticed, I don’t have a whole lot of padding and it really, really hurts when you drop me like that! Can’t you be more careful? It’s like you’ve never done lifts before.”

“I haven’t all that much,” Alfred admitted, going a bit red in the face.

“Even more reason why I called in reinforcements. Sherlock can help you sort yourself out so I don’t die during practice before we even get to the competition! He should be here soon. Help me up, yeah?” She held an arm up and smiled when Alfred helped her up from the floor. Just as Rose got to her feet the door to their practice studio was thrown open and four men rushed inside. Her eyes widened as she took in their slightly panicked appearances.

“Where is the emergency?” Mycroft asked, taking in the clearly mundane scene in front of him.

Rose frowned. “I didn’t say there was an emergency. I just required Sherlock’s assistance.”

““Help! Studio now. Help me. Please!” Those are not the words of someone who merely requires assistance,” the eldest Holmes ground out.

“So there’s no emergency? None at all?” Lestrade asked as his heart rate returned to normal. “I was ready to call in for back-up!”

“I didn’t mean for that to be interpreted that way! I thought Sherlock would know I needed his help in a dancing capacity,” Rose hurried to explain. “I’m, so, so sorry, I never meant for everyone to be so alarmed and overreact.” The moment the word ‘overreact’ left her mouth Rose wished she could take it back. Mycroft looked ready to murder her himself!

“Excuse us for a moment,” Mycroft ground out. He approached Rose and took her by the ear, leading her towards the exit.

“My! My, we’re in public. My, seriously, we’re in public. Mycroft!” Rose protested. When they were outside of the practice studio he released her and she immediately began trying to soothe her now sore, red ear.

Mycroft was not impressed with her sad looks as she rubbed her ear. “Do you have any idea at all how frightened we were, receiving that message? Sherlock called me in a panic, telling me you were in trouble and forwarded your text. John called the detective-inspector. Can you please explain your thought process to me, because I fail to see that there was any thinking involved at all.”

Rose had the good grace to blush. “I didn’t think about it in those terms. I thought Sherlock would know,” she repeated.

“If you _ever_ send another text like that and it is not in relation to a genuine life-threatening emergency, I can promise you that your life will be in danger from _me_ and you will very much regret such an unfortunate choice.” Mycroft watched with satisfaction as her eyes widened in alarm. “Do you understand me, young lady?”

“Yes! Yes, sir, I very, very much do and I am profoundly sorry,” Rose hurriedly replied.

Mycroft nodded curtly in response. “Go make apologies then to everyone else then, young lady.”

“I’m really sorry I frightened everyone,” Rose said sincerely when she reentered the studio. “I didn’t stop to think how those texts could be interpreted to mean an emergency situation. I promise to do a bit more thinking before I send out texts calling for help in the future and be explicit about what kind of help I require.”

Greg shrugged. “It’s alright. But I’m going to stay and see Sherlock dance,” he decided. “That alright?”

“It’s gonna be boring, lots of repetition,” Rose warned.

“Yeah, but we didn’t know he could dance,” John said with a grin. “So we’re definitely staying!”

“That okay Sherlock?” Rose asked. “Are you staying as well, My?”

When Sherlock nodded his consent, Mycroft smirked delightedly. “Oh I’m definitely staying, just to bother Sherlock,” he decided.

Rolling her eyes, Rose shooed the three men off to chairs on the side of the room. Once they were seated she began explaining the choreography to Sherlock and walking him through it slowly. Just as they were about to give the dance a run through, with Alfred watching closely to see the proper way to lift and support one’s dance partner, Louise burst into the studio.

“ROSE! You’re on youtube and it’s so brilliant! You have 10,000 hits,” she squealed, waving her phone in the air.

“Youtube?” Mycroft echoed, looking slightly alarmed.

“You know what that is right?” Greg asked. “Random people put up videos of everything and anything. Rabbits eating bananas, kids jumping off roofs of garages because they think it’s funny, parodies of shows on the telly, music videos.”

“Music videos? Aren’t those on that ridiculously named channel that originated in the states?” Mycroft asked, frowning slightly.

“Mtv? Mycroft, you’re really, really old. That stopped being about actual music ages and ages ago,” Rose pointed out, giving him a bit of a concerned look

“Ages! Before we were even born I think,” Louise agreed. She shoved her phone at Rose after cueing up the video in question. Sure enough, there was Rose among the other flash-mob dancers, dancing hip-hop to Madcon’s Beggin’.

“I do look awesome! That was so much fun, happened on it by accident. The look on Anthea’s face when I jumped into the crowd, it was perfect,” Rose giggled.

“Let me see!” John called. He came over to join the girls, watching Rose perform the choreography just as well, if not better, than everyone near her in the video. Within minutes it had been passed around to every person in the room leaving Sherlock indifferent while John and Greg impressed.

Mycroft looking somewhere between confused and displeased. “I’m _so_ happy to see all the years of classical dance training that cost me a small fortune have gone to such good use,” he quipped. “That is not music and that is certainly not dancing. Who are all these people around you?” He cued the video for a second look and found it just as appalling on second viewing as it was on the first.

“It’s a flash mob,” Rose said. “I didn’t know any of them personally.”

He gave her a hard look, an eyebrow raised. “So you randomly joined a group of marauders bent on criminal activity in the mall?”

“Oh my god, oh my god,” Louise laughed. “Dude, you’re seriously hilarious! Oh… wait, you’re serious, aren’t you?” she asked.

“My name is not ‘Dude’ and yes I am completely serious,” Mycroft replied, giving his sister’s best friend a stern look. “Please behave yourself, Louise.”

Rose snickered as Louise stood up a little straighter, her face going a bit pink. “Sorry, Mr. Holmes. My bad.”

“My bad?” Mycroft repeated. “Your generation is quite frankly terrifying. It’s no wonder my job is getting harder and harder as the overall intelligence of society continues to decline at a rapid pace. I _still_ don’t understand why you were joining a group of potential criminals Rose.”

“Mycroft, it’s not a _mob_ , it’s a flash mob. A group of people who make a plan online to meet up at a certain time and place to spontaneously burst into well rehearsed choreography. That’s what I joined, a flash mob of dancers. I’d seen a different group do that dance so I didn’t see any reason not to join in,” Rose tried to explain. “Plus I actually really like that song.” She cued up the song on Louise’s phone, handed it to John after turning the volume up, and the girls began mimicking the dance choreography.

“Please do cease and desist already,” Mycroft grumbled, annoyed that the girls so obviously enjoyed bothering him. “I don’t know where you learned to do… things like that…” he said, indicating their hip-hop moves. “Knowing you I don’t want to know. And that is not the meaning of the word “mob” by the way. Why is there a constant issue of people your age misappropriating words and giving them new meanings that are completely ridiculous?”

“Aw, don’t worry Mycroft. Give it a few years and that definition will show up under “mob” in the dictionary as well,” Rose promised.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “I’ve lost all faith in the dictionary since it labeled “conversating” a word. It’s not a word, nor is it grammatically correct. What was wrong with “conversing?””

This time it was Greg’s turn to look confused. “Conversating? What the hell is that?”

“My point precisely, detective-inspector.”

“Alright, enough bashing of my generation and further examples of its intellectual decline and more dancing, if you all don’t mind,” Rose decided. “I’ve got a lot of work to do with Sherlock and Alfred here, so if you’re going to stay, have a seat please and let us get on with our work.”

“You sounded just like Sherlock,” Greg decided with a grin.

“Insults will get you nowhere Greg,” Rose quipped.

“Insults?! I’m very insulted by your implication that sounding like me is an insult!” Sherlock exclaimed, feigning outrage.

Mycroft smirked. “It _is_ an insult Sherlock.”

“This is better than telly, you lot,” Louise decided. “I’m going to watch as well. My tappers went home an hour ago and all this bantering is like my bread and butter.” She took a seat between John and Greg, smiling brightly at the two men. “Waz up boys?”

“Does your mother know that you speak in such an unintelligent manner like a common hooligan, Louise?” Mycroft inquired. “If she’s not aware, perhaps I should warn her.”

“You have a very poor sense of humor, Mr. Holmes. May I please remind you that unlike dearest Rose, I do not live at home or within a close enough proximity to my parents to be at all considered under their jurisdiction in my daily life,” Louise pointed out. “But consider your concern duly noted and know that I will take it under advisement at my earliest convenience. The matter will be given every due consideration.” The serious demeanor she’d adopted while responding to the eldest Holmes slipped away, revealing a cheeky grin.

“You never change, Louise Gardner.”

Louise continued to grin. “Neither do you, Mycroft Holmes; neither do you. Which is comforting in its own way, so do carry on.” She gave him a wink and promptly burst into giggles at the horrified look on his face. If only her own family could be so very interesting!

\---------------------------------------------------------------

By 11pm that night the party had dwindled down to just Sherlock and John, both of whom were intent on making certain Alfred didn’t injure Rose any further than he already may have. Rose continued to brush away their concerns for the whole two hours they were there but neither man was completely convinced that she hadn’t been somewhat banged up from her multiple falls to the studio floor.

Just as they were getting ready to leave Sherlock received a text from Lestrade. “There’s a case,” Sherlock announced, pocketing his mobile after reading it.

“Go on you two,” Rose said with a smile. “My sent his car back for me, I can get home just fine.”

Sherlock shook his head. “Take her home John and make certain she isn’t going to be completely black and blue tomorrow,” he decided, shooting Alfred a hard look. “Then you can join me if I’m still at the crime scene.”

The group parted ways with Rose and John returning to Baker Street. “So what hurts most?” John asked after retrieving his kit and the arnica cream.

“Everything, everywhere it seems like,” Rose admitted, flopping onto the couch on her stomach. “Especially my back and my sides. I don’t think I’m too badly bruised though, it didn’t seem like it when I showered and changed before we left.”

John nodded and sat on one end of the couch. “Sit up and let me examine you then. Make sure there’s nothing obviously wrong. Did you hear any crunching noises or anything that might indicate you broke a rib?”

“No, nothing like that. Just the sound of my body slapping the floor,” Rose chuckled. “But I don’t think anything is broken.” She sat up and patiently waited for John to check her over and satisfy himself that she wasn’t broken.

“You take very good care of me, you know that?” Rose murmured, giving him a smile. “It’s quite nice.”

John just grinned at her. “Well, someone has to. God knows what would happen if I didn’t.”

“I managed just fine while I was away.”

“And then promptly stopped once you came home,” John scolded lightly. “I’ll always fuss at you about it. It’s important and I care.”

“You’re almost too good, John,” Rose decided as she got up from the couch. “Want some tea?” When he nodded his agreement she went into the kitchen, intending to have some herself, only because it was late at night.

John followed her into the kitchen and leaned against the counter while she started the tea. “What do you mean I’m almost too good?”

Rose just grinned at him. “Exactly what I said. First off, you’re quite tidy and even do the dishes. Secondly, you cook reasonably well for a man--”

“Hey now!” John laughed. “That’s rude!” He tugged on her arm and pulled her to him, lightly smacking her bum before wrapping his arms around her. “What am I going to do with you, hmm?” He gave her an adoring look before kissing her forehead.

This was just the moment Rose had been waiting for. They were alone, she was already in his arms, and they were enjoying each other’s company. It was now or never. Smiling shyly at him, Rose wrapped her arms around his neck and stood up on her toes a bit. She pressed her lips against his, gently at first, but gained more confidence as John responded by holding her even closer.

As they kissed, Rose was overwhelmed by the feelings that washed over her and the heightening of all her senses. Her heart raced, beating loud and fast within her chest and she closed her eyes, her world narrowing to just the two of them. Rose could even _smell_ John, that unique combination of aftershave, the fabric softener he used to wash his beloved jumpers, and something she could only describe as _man._

Suddenly she felt herself being pushed gently but firmly away from John and her eyes opened, widening in confusion. He looked flushed and decidedly uncomfortable and Rose had no idea why he would feel uncomfortable.

John took several seconds to get air back into his lungs and let his heartbeat slow down before he spoke. “This is wrong, Rose,” he told her quietly.

The young woman frowned in confusion. “Wrong? Am I doing it wrong?” One would think there wasn’t actually a wrong way to kiss but maybe there was! Rose hadn’t dated all that much so perhaps she wasn’t as good at it as she’d originally believed.

Now he looked pained. “No, you’re not doing it wrong,” John replied. “You were doing just fine but… This is wrong, we can’t do this. We can’t keep doing this.”

“Well why the hell not?”

He should have known this wasn’t going to be easy. John only hoped his spelling it out for Rose wouldn’t hurt her too deeply. “For many reasons. First off, I am way too old for you. I’m 34 soon and you’re only 20. That’s too much of an age difference. You should really be with someone your own age, not someone so much older.”

“Age is dull John,” Rose decided with a sigh. “I don’t consider it important.”

“Plus it’s just not done. You don’t date your best mate’s sister, _ever_.”

Rose scowled darkly. “And why not? What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing is wrong with you Rose!” John exclaimed, beginning to sound frustrated. “But it’s not done, it’s against… against… well, the male code of honor you might say. Don’t date someone your mate is trying to date or currently dating or have previously dated and don’t date family members, especially sisters.”

“Male code of honor?” she echoed. “What the hell is that and why should it matter?” The words left unspoken were why it should matter if he loved her, but Rose couldn’t bring herself to add that.

“I wouldn’t betray Sherlock in that way Rose. It wouldn’t be right and like I said, the age difference is too much. You need someone your own age, and I’m not a cradle robber. You can do much, much better than me,” John added quietly, realizing for the first time that not only was that true but he actually believed it.

Rose took a deep breath and closed her eyes for several seconds, trying to ward off tears. “What if I don’t want better? What if there isn’t better? And what is wrong with you anyway other than your hang-up about age.”

“I’m an ex-soldier, I’m set in my ways, I live mostly off an army pension and work at the surgery which isn’t always regular and isn’t the best paying job a person could have,” John pointed out. “Your brothers would not approve, not in a million years, and it’s not worth tearing your family and friendships apart. I’m not worth that.” The hurt that flashed in her eyes went straight to his heart and he nearly took it all back, nearly begged for her to forget he’d ever said anything.

The pain Rose felt at his mention of tearing family and friendships apart was exquisite. Did he really mean that; might it tear her family apart? Or was he more concerned about his friendship with Sherlock? And did she have a right to ruin Sherlock’s one and only true friendship? That was easier to think of, sacrificing herself for Sherlock’s well being and happiness.

“Where does this leave us, then?” she finally asked.

“The same place we’ve always been. Great friends, I’ll fuss at you about taking care of yourself, scold you when you don’t, let you steal my jumpers and give you a cuddle any time you need one, just because you need it. I care about you Rose, very much,” John assured her. “But we can’t go past what we’ve always been and become… involved. We just can’t.”

“So I don’t need to consider moving back in with Mycroft then? Things will just be… normal again?”

“Right,” John confirmed. “Back to normal. Definitely don’t go moving back with Mycroft, we’d miss you terribly.”

Rose nodded, looking thoughtful. “Then that’s what we’ll do. We’ll resolve to be normal and never talk about this again. I accept your boundaries and your reason for them- just the Sherlock, reason, mind you. Not the age. But there was nothing wrong with how things were before, right?”

Rose gave him the saddest little smile John had ever seen and all he wanted to do was hold her tightly and beg her forgiveness for hurting her. But he couldn’t. “Right,” he quickly agreed.

“Then that’s all there is to say,” she decided. “I think I’ll skip the tea. It’s been a long day and I’m completely exhausted. Good night John, sleep well.” Without waiting for his response, Rose made a quick exit from his flat. When her own door shut behind her the tears she’d so bravely held back began to fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find the routine Rose and the other flash mobbers did here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z4YanCt7mFg I picked the song because it's one of my recent favorites and because hip-hop types moves would most certainly gain Mycroft's disapproval LOL.


	33. Starting the New Year Off the Wrong Way

Two cabs pulled up to the curb outside 221B Baker Street, including the one Sherlock himself was in. He found this to be odd, as generally clients didn’t show up at 12:20am unless they had bad intentions and as John and Rose were both home, and Mrs. Hudson wouldn’t stay out this late, he wasn’t certain who this unexpected visitor was. Thus it was with great surprise that he saw Louise emerge from the cab in front of his own, dressed in an oversized sleep shirt featuring the Grumpy dwarf and a pair of long-john pants, an unzipped coat and an overnight bag.

“Louise?” Sherlock asked as he passed by her to unlock the door. “Bit late to be running about London, isn’t it?” It was almost reflex to express concern over the thought of his sister’s best friend running around London late at night in pajamas. There were often times when Rose was growing up that he swore he’d acquired a second sister in Louise Gardner and, alternately, days he’d wondered if Rose was ever coming home again from perpetually on-going sleepovers.

“Oh! Sherlock, hi,” Louise greeted, trying not to appear thrown off by his presence. “Just, uh, going up to see Rose.”

“Bit late to start a sleepover, isn’t it?”

Louise snorted. “Well it’s not like Rose has a bedtime! Or does she?” The whole practically living with Sherlock and what all that entailed was something she hadn’t quite put her finger on yet, other than acknowledging it was the sort of arrangement she herself would not enjoy.

“No, she doesn’t,” Sherlock confirmed. He gestured toward the door he was now holding open. “Go on up.”

Flashing him a smile, Louise dashed up the stairs and knocked lightly on Rose’s door. She slipped through the small opening Rose made when she answered the door. Once the door was closed, her arms immediately went around Rose, hugging her best friend tightly. “I’m so sorry Rose. I’m _so_ so sorry. I shouldn’t have encouraged you.”

“No Lou, please don’t feel that way,” Rose hurried to assure her friend. “It needed to be done. I needed to know, one way or another. Now at least it’s settled.”

The taller, redheaded Louise hugged Rose even tighter. “Poor babe,” she murmured. “I brought over the emergency kit for just this situation.”

“You’re squishing me,” Rose murmured. “What’s in your kit?”

“Oh! Sorry,” Louise responded, letting go of the shorter girl. “Well! I got everything a girl needs.” She opened her overnight bag and pulled out a bottle of whiskey and a massive bag of peanut butter m&ms.

Rose smiled despite her tear-streaked face. “My favorite!” She grabbed the bag of m&ms and hugged it to her chest. “I don’t know if I like whiskey though.”

“Ah, there’s a reason for the whiskey,” Louise assured her. “It goes hand in hand with the visual therapy I’ve got lined up!” Putting down the bottle, she dug around in her bag for a moment before pulling out two DVD sets of the US show _Once Upon a Time_. “Whiskey goes hand-in-hand with the ultimate of visual therapy, m’dear: the ultra dashing and sexy pirate Killian Jones, aka Hook. You’re caught up on series one, yeah?”

Rose nodded. “I am. Haven’t been introduced to this Killian Jones yet.”

“Oh. My. God. He drips sex appeal, seriously. His voice could make me orgasm,” Louise said with a pleasurable sigh. She grinned brightly when Rose burst into hysterical laughter. “That’s what I want to see! I mean, who doesn’t like a sexy pirate in the most gorgeous leathery pirate attire?”

“More dashing than Douglas Fairbanks?” Rose asked seriously. “Because that man could cut a dashing figure in a black and white _silent_ film and that isn’t an easy thing.”

“ _Loads_ more dashing! Fairbanks doesn’t have anything on the luscious Killian Jones. Besides, if pirates aren’t your thing, there are others. Rumple if you want the baddest baddie in all the realms,” Louise suggested. “Or Charming, if you want the sweet, sappy, sword-swinging type.”

Rose’s face fell at that description, which for some reason immediately reminded her of John.

“None of that,” Louise said sternly. “It’ll be Killian Jones, trust me! Now, go get your DVD player going and I’ll pour the drinks. Open the bag of emotional eatery known as m&ms while you’re at it!” 

\--------------------------------------------------------

The sun was coming up by the time Rose turned off the telly and the DVD player. The girls were happily buzzed, gorged on peanut butter m&ms and already snuggled into the pull out bed of Rose’s sofa. “Love you Lou,” Rose murmured, burrowing under the covers. “Love me some sexy pirate too, mmmm.”

Louise smirked. “I want Killian Jones on the floor, all the things that that means. Can’t think of ‘em right now. Later. But every, every minute of every day, sex, sex, sex,” she decided, closing her eyes.

“Floor? Anywhere, anywhere, everywhere, every place, elevator, I dunno. Don’t care. Just where… everywhere… all the wheres and there,” Rose slurred, due to a mixture of exhaustion and whiskey. “Or just whisper in my ear, that’d do it too. You’re really bestest.” She smiled as she closed her eyes.

Louise nodded, smiling as well. “You’re bestest. Love ya girl. Let’s to ‘merica and stalk him. That man that plays the sexy pirate. We’re gonna do it. Tell Mycroft we want a trip.”

Rose’s eyes fluttered open for a moment and put her hand up to her ear, pretending it was a phone. “’llo Mycroft? This is Rose. I wanna go to ‘merica. Why? Pirate stalking; perfectly legal, promise. Because reasons! Gimme money.”

The girls giggled hysterically. “Rozen Holmes,” Louise slurred. “You’re ridiculous. No money for you. No stalking, highly irregular!”

The hysterical giggling continued for a few minutes more as the girls did various impressions of Mycroft and his refusal to provide the necessary means for stalking a star, before snuggling close and blissfully passing out.

\------------------------------------------- 

When 10am came along without any sight of Rose, not even the rather funny staggering into the flat demanding coffee, John began to feel concerned. “Have you seen your sister this morning?” he asked Sherlock.

“No; wasn’t my day to watch her.”

John looked at his flatmate and blinked several times. “She’s your sister. When is it _not_ your day to watch her if she’s still alive? Sometimes I wonder how exactly she survived her childhood.”

“Nearly didn’t at times,” Sherlock admitted. “There was that whole Paddington Bear incident, experiments gone wrong, the balcony incident, the whole pirate ship debacle to name a few,” he mused. “God, how _did_ she survive?”

“The what?” John asked, laughing. “You’ve got to tell me this pirate ship thing.”

Sherlock sighed heavily. “Rose fell down the stairs, turned out to be fine, but decided she needed more appropriate pirate gear. Who was I to deny her? Naturally I stole Mycroft’s bank card--”

“That’s not natural Sherlock. It is not natural to pick-pocket your brother,” John interrupted with a semi-scolding.

The other man scowled and continued on. “So I bought her a pirate ship. A complete pirate ship in the backyard, christened the _HMS Mycroft_ at her insistence. She got to keep it in the end, didn’t work out so well for me. Something about 2500 pounds is a ridiculous amount of money for a ‘glad you feel better now’ gift.” Sherlock waved his hand dismissively.

John promptly spit out his tea at the mention of 2500 pounds. “Yeah, I’d have murdered you too. How are you not dead and buried?”

Sherlock looked a bit uncomfortable and shifted in his chair by the fireplace. “There were moments I wished I was. About two week's worth of moments. Mycroft was… very, very angry. I had to sacrifice myself in order for Rose to keep the ship. Not much of a choice really.”

The doctor smiled at his flatmate with a sort of nostalgic air, imagining a young Sherlock bravely sacrificing himself for Rose.

The detective sighed heavily. “John, _please_ don’t get all sentimental about it. It’s annoying.”

“Alright, alright,” John agreed, raising his hands in surrender. “In any case, despite it not being your day to watch her- still not sure how that works exactly- have you seen Rose at all today?”

“No; Louise came over late, they’re probably still sleeping. If you’re really that concerned take the keys and go check on her,” Sherlock suggested. He wasn’t at all surprised when John immediately acted upon his suggestion.

Taking the key to Rose’s flat, John went next door and let himself in, stopping just inside the door at the sight in front of him. What he assumed were Rose and Louise was mainly a tangle of blankets, limbs, and snoring. The open bottle of whiskey didn’t go unnoticed and apparently neither did he as the jumble of girls began to stir.

“Whoizzet?” Louise slurred, her redhead popping up a bit.

“Is it Killian?” Rose called out. She started to sit up, only to have Louise push her back down in her own efforts to do the same.

“Where? Is he bringing breakfast?!” Louise asked. She blinked several times trying to focus her eyes, which landed on John. “Piss off, you! Unless there’s breakfast. We want that first, and then piss off.”

Eyes wide, feeling rather confused, John hastily retreated back to his own flat.

“Still alive in there?” Sherlock asked, looking up from the paper.

“Well,” John began, “I think they’re a bit drunk and they were looking for someone named Killian and then demanded breakfast. So… yes?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Well at least she’s drunk here and not elsewhere.”

“Who’s Killian?” John inquired, trying to sound very casual while actually feeling something between slight alarm and a tinge of jealousy. He shouldn’t feel that way; he had no _right_ to feel that way, so John forced the feelings away, angry for having had them in the first place.

As if John’s words had only just registered, Sherlock shot out of his chair and hurried into Rose’s flat. “Do you have a man in here?!” he demanded of the still happily buzzed girls.

“Huh?” Louise asked. “Sher, go ‘way. We’re very busy with... with… things.”

“A man? What man? Is there a man? Is it Killian?!” Rose squealed, looking around excitedly.

Deciding that questioning the little idiots any further would likely cause his brain cells to start dying he began searching the flat. Thankfully it was empty of any persons of the male sex. Just as he was leaving the flat, the girls began clapping and hollering, causing him to turn around. There on the telly was some sort of pirate.

“Killian?” he asked, indicating the television.

Both girls nodded, not bothering to take their eyes from the screen, looking for all the world like love-struck thirteen-year-olds rather than the reasonably mature twenty-year-olds they actually were. Most of the time; or at least some of the time at any rate, if Sherlock was honest.

“Well, this has been… awkward,” Sherlock decided. “I’ll leave you to whatever it is you’re doing.” Shutting the door behind him, he headed back into 221B, shaking his head.

“So what were you planning to do if you found a man in there?” John asked curiously when his flatmate returned.

“Assist him in exiting her flat very quickly, via the window,” Sherlock responded. “And threaten massive bodily harm if I ever saw him near my sister again.”

“I’m pretty sure being thrown out the window would be threat enough,” John chuckled, shaking his head. He could only imagine Lestrade’s reaction to Sherlock throwing yet another person out of the window. Life with the Holmes siblings was certainly never boring!

\--------------------------------------- 

Across London, enjoying a cup of tea while doing paperwork in his study, Mycroft Holmes picked up his mobile and dialed the number of his most trusted and valued employee.

“Afternoon sir,” Anthea answered.

“Afternoon. I have something I need you to do for me that’s a bit unorthodox,” Mycroft began.

Anthea laughed on the other end of the line. “Sir, most of what I do for you is a bit unorthodox, particularly depending upon whose definition of the word you’re referring to.”

Mycroft smiled, though Anthea couldn’t see it. “True enough. My sister has plans to go out and celebrate the New Year tonight with her friend, Louise Gardner. I’m concerned for her safety, namely because she’s an immature twenty-year-old who has no threshold for alcohol.”

“I can certainly discreetly follow them,” Anthea responded. It would take no effort at all for her to gain entry to any club Rose was admitted to and fit right into the crowd.

“I knew I could count on you. I merely want to make certain she doesn’t drink herself into a stupor and/or get herself into some sort of trouble. I’d like to be contacted should things get… out of hand,” Mycroft added. “Keep an eye on Louise as well, of course.” While Louise had spent much of her life in pursuit of annoying him, Mycroft didn’t like the thought of anything happening to her either.

“Of course, sir,” Anthea replied. Her boss’s level of concern for his sister was rather endearing, but she couldn’t help thinking that he was probably overly concerned in this instance.

\------------------------------

Very little was heard from Rose and Louise for the remainder of the day as the girls lounged about, continuing their _Once Upon a Time_ marathon until they decided to get ready for their night out. It was New Years Eve, both were single and Rose had a lot of things about this past year that she wanted to forget. The initial fighting with Mycroft when she returned, being stalked and attacked, and last but certainly not least, the whole business with John. It was time to start out the New Year as she meant to go on: throw caution to the wind, live in the moment, and have a hell of a lot of fun.

“Oh yeah, you’re dressed to kill baby,” Louise announced as Rose presented herself for inspection.

When Rose wanted to dress up, boy could she do it! The shorter girl had no need for make-up, having inherited her mother’s flawless skin with just a smattering of freckles across the top of her cheeks and nose. On special occasions when Rose chose to wear make-up, however, she did so with the skill of someone who did it all the time, applying just the right amount and the appropriate colors. Her hair was tied back in a high ponytail and Rose was wearing a particularly provocative dress. The skirt of it was short, coming only mid-thigh, with the top portion not only sleeveless but backless. The front of it was split in half, revealing a black strip of material across her breasts.

“You don’t clean up half badly yourself,” Rose told Louise, taking in her friend’s scandalously short little black dress and killer pair of heels. “Purse and mobiles?”

“Check and check,” Louise confirmed. “We’re ready to go.” She opened the door of Rose’s flat and stepped out onto the landing where Greg Lestrade was standing just inside the door of Sherlock and John’s flat, consulting with the detective.

“Oh, hey Greg! Happy New Years a bit early,” Rose greeted, waving at him.

Greg turned at the sound of her voice and after getting one look at her outfit, his eyes went wide and he began gesturing towards Rose with his head.

It took Sherlock several seconds to figure out that Greg was subtly trying to call his attention to Rose and the consulting detective stepped out of the flat while the girls were descending the stairs. “Not so fast!” he called down. “You are _not_ going out in that Rosenwyn. Find some appropriate clothes.”

“These are clothes,” Rose countered, an eyebrow quirking. “I’m covered.”

“Not really. In fact that hardly qualifies as clothing at all” Sherlock told her. “Come back upstairs and change into legitimate clothing or we’re going to have a discussion about it.”

Rose’s face flamed red at the mention of a discussion and she scurried back up the stairs to change. She slammed her door shut behind her for good measure.

“You girls on your way out?” John asked, sticking his head out of the flat.

Louise stared at him for a moment before a slow smile spread across her face. “Say, John, do you have a car?”

The doctor shook his head. “Need me to call a cab?”

“How disappointing. I was going to slash your tires and pay some drunken fool to piss in your gas tank. Pity,” Louise mused. She’d have to find some other way to exact her revenge.

John’s eyes widened. “Um… alright then.” He quickly backed away, not doubting for a second Louise meant everything she said.

Sherlock gave his flatmate a penetrating look. “What did you do?”

“Nothing, nothing at all!” John hurried to assure him. He could tell, however, that Sherlock was not particularly convinced by his assurances. Thankfully, Sherlock was distracted when Rose came out of her flat once more.

“Happy? Spoil sport,” Rose grumbled. She had donned a red long-sleeved dress with a few pieces of material cut out to expose the skin of her upper chest, shoulder, and side.

“Do you own clothing with all the pieces still attached?” Sherlock asked. “If you do, you need to find it if you want to leave this building today, because that’s completely inappropriate.”

“Sherlock! All the important things are covered! Good lord, you’re such a problem!”

“As are you! Since the moment you were born,” Sherlock grumbled. “Put on something decent already, this really isn’t up for debate, just in case that wasn’t clear to you.”

Rose stomped back up the stairs once more to find something better to wear.

“Mmm, yes, stomping is absolutely becoming behavior for a twenty-year-old,” Sherlock remarked.

Rose responded by sticking her tongue out at him.

Moments later she emerged in a black skirt just barely above her knees, a white top and a red leather jacket with studs on the shoulders. “Happy?”

Sherlock looked her up and down before giving her a curt nod. “Blissfully so. Go away now.”

Rolling her eyes, Rose stomped all the way down the stairs and out of the building with Louise following her lead in support of Rose’s protest.

The second they were out of the door, Greg began laughing so hard he almost doubled over.

“Oh, yes, please do laugh at my suffering Lestrade,” Sherlock ground out, giving the inspector-detective a hard look. Much to his chagrin, Lestrade merely continued to laugh.

\------------------------------------------- 

The girls started out at 10:30pm that night, fully intending to party as late as they were able. They bounced from club to club over a two hour period, ringing in the New Year with shots and kissing strangers before popping off to yet another dance club when that one got too crowded.

By the time 1:30am rolled around, Louise and Rose were quite happily sloshed, dancing their feet off to the latest remixed dance songs. Anthea was growing steadily more concerned as the girls appeared to knock back shot after shot, the fact that they were all over the dance floor making it hard to keep track of how many each of them had. When Rose straddled a boy and began kissing him rather enthusiastically, Anthea knew it was time to call her boss before things really got out of hand.

Exiting the club, she retrieved her mobile from her purse and was wholly unsurprised at how awake Mycroft sounded when he answered.

“This isn’t going to be something I really want to hear, is it?”

“Not really sir,” Anthea admitted, chuckling a bit.

“I’m so very glad you find this amusing Anthea,” Mycroft grumbled.

“Sorry sir. Shall I go try to… extract them?”

This time it was Mycroft’s turn to chuckle as he envisioned his very capable PA trying to herd the two girls out of a club. “Please do and take them both home. Call me if you have any difficulties.”

\------------------------------------------ 

Anthea made her way across the crowded dance floor towards where she’d last spotted Louise and Rose. Luckily enough for her the two girls were still chatting up two very handsome young men, though perhaps ‘chatting up’ wasn’t really the most applicable term. What they were doing was more along the lines of bumping and grinding to the overly loud music while knocking into everyone else around them due to the size of the crowd. Both had a drink in their hand and were being held a little too closely for Anthea’s comfort to the boys they were dancing with, making the bumping and grinding movements particularly inappropriate. She wondered whether the boys were holding them so close because they felt like it, or because the girls were starting to find it difficult to stand up on their own.

“Rose,” Anthea said, taking gentle hold of the young woman’s arm. “Rose, I think it’s time to go now,” she said. “You and Louise need to be done for the night before things get out of hand. Let’s find your coats and go, please.” It was difficult for her to find a tone that balanced enough sternness to get Rose’s attention without patronizing her. Wrangling idiotic politicians and making them thing Mycroft Holmes’s ideas are their own was one thing; handling a headstrong young lady was something Anthea didn’t have in her admittedly vast repertoire.

Anthea’s best attempt, however, was met with significant resistance as Rose yanked her arm away from the PA. “Oi! No! I’m dancin’ Ana…Antha…Anthea! Yeah, Anthea. Dancin’ and you’re not m’minder. Piss off and tell My to piss off!”

“What she said,” Louise added. “Don’t worry; I got it unna…under… something!” She waved her hands as if to shoo Anthea away and cheered with Rose when the PA appeared to do just that.

\----------------------------------- 

“So it didn’t go well, I take it?” Mycroft said by way of answering his mobile ten minutes later.

“No, not at all,” Anthea sighed. “Something along the lines of ‘You’re not my minder, piss off and tell my brother to piss off.’”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “That’s lovely. I’ll be there shortly and meet you outside. Let me know if they manage to escape before I get there.”

\--------------------------------- 

It was like a scene out of his worst nightmare, Mycroft reflected as he gained entrance to the dance club. Drunken people dancing, doing things they thought were dancing but was definitely _not_ dancing, sloshing drinks, blaring music with the bass up far too high, and all sorts of strobe lights and colored lights making it all seem to be a hazy mess. He was stone cold soberand it was _still_ hazy. Mycroft could only imagine how hazy it was for those of varying levels of intoxication.

As Mycroft came nearer to the dance floor, with Anthea right beside him, a dance remix of Katy Perry’s _Last Friday Night_ began playing. Those at the edge of the dance floor caught sight of the sexy woman accompanied by an odd looking man quite a bit older than her, dressed in a three-piece suit that couldn’t have looked anymore out of place if he tried. Yet despite looking so very out of place there was something about the man, a sort of presence or aura, that made those on the dance floor begin parting as he came towards them. Clearly this man, strange as he was, was on a mission that no one dared to interfere with, wisely choosing to just get out of his way.

It was an odd water-free reenactment of the parting of the Red Sea, as Mycroft made his way across the floor and he took a not inconsiderable amount of delight from that fact. Halfway across the room the music screeched to a halt and the club fell quiet for the most part as drunken people tried to figure out what was going on and who exactly was causing such a disturbance.

“Rose,” Louise hissed, beginning to poke her best friend in the arm. “Rose! Stop snogging that guy, I think Mycroft is here! Either that or I’m way, way more smashed than I think I am. Rose!” She continued poking Rose, who was at that moment sitting on the lap of a boy at the bar, enthusiastically kissing him.

Louise’s eyes went wide as she saw that yes indeed it was Mycroft in the flesh and not a drunken illusion or nightmare. It went some way towards sobering her up as she continued to poke Rose rather frantically. “Seriously, Rose, stop… Mycroft is here!”

Her efforts were rewarded just as Mycroft stopped beside them and muttered an “Oh, Rose,” in a very disappointed tone. Just then the music and dancing resumed in earnest, leaving them more or less to their own devices there at the bar as everyone ignored the little huddled group.

Rose stopped making out and looked up at her brother, grinning brightly. “Lookie! The British government came for a drink! He’ll have a scotch! Scotchy, scotch, scotch,” she sang, slurring her words a bit.

Louise began giggling hysterically. “That’s Anchorman! Anchorman, hooray!”

“What in god’s name do you think you are doing?” Mycroft hissed at his sister. “And get off this boy’s lap at _once_. This is a completely disgraceful display and your little party time is at an end.”

“This isn’t boy, this is Bobby,” Rose explained, making no move to get up.

“Billy,” the young man corrected.

“This is Billy-Bob,” Rose amended. “We might be dating? Are we dating? I don’t remember.”

“Mmm, yeah baby,” Billy mumbled, moving in to kiss her neck. Rose giggled as he did so and playfully pushed at Billy’s chest.

Suddenly, Rose was no longer on Billy’s lap and was instead rather roughly pulled off of it and onto her feet. Just as she opened her mouth to protest Mycroft’s manhandling, her older brother grabbed the young man by the throat and pinned him to the bar. “You will not touch her again; you will not speak to her again; you will delete her number from your mobile if she was stupid enough to give it to you. If you see her on the street, you will run as fast as you can in the opposite direction, because if you don’t, I will make very certain that you are _never_ seen again. Do I make myself quite clear?”

Billy’s eyes were wide and practically bulging out of his head as he made a very brief nod before squeaking “Yes.” As soon as he said it, Mycroft let go and watched the young man fall to the floor before getting up and hurrying away.

“Let’s get them outside,” Mycroft said to Anthea. He took hold of Rose and began steering her through the crowd, which once more parted for him, though the music continued to play this time. Anthea followed him with Louise in tow. Neither adult spoke until they were well clear of the clubs entrance.

“Louise, Anthea will be seeing you home. I suggest you go quietly and obediently or I’ll call your mother and I’m quite certain she’d have plenty to say to you regarding this little escapade,” Mycroft said sternly. He was pleased that Louise merely nodded enthusiastically and immediately went with Anthea.

“As for you,” Mycroft began, turning to Rose. “You are going home and you are in very, very serious trouble.” He began steering her in the direction of his car, ignoring her indignant protests.

“Noooo! My I wanna go dance! It’s New Years, I’m going to be all new! No more bad stuff! And where’d Billy-Bob go? I wanted his number,” Rose informed him with a pout.

“He has gone far, far away if he has any connected brain cells left in his head. You, sister mine, have had far more than enough to drink for one evening and are going straight home. There will be no more drunken snogging or dancing this evening for you miss,” Mycroft scolded. He prided himself on knowing his sister very well and anticipating her responses, yet he found himself surprised to be kicked in the shin seconds later.

“You’re not the boss of me anymore!” Rose shouted at him. “Lemme go, My!”

After letting out a curse as her high heel connected with his shin, Mycroft rolled his eyes at her antics and decided to put an end to them immediately. Turning her around he bent her over the hood of his car and landed several hearty smacks to the seat of her skirt, ignoring the yelps that accompanied the swats. “Are you quite done?” he asked. “Because I assure you, I’ve had enough of your dramatics for one evening, Rosenwyn Aramantha. Are you going to be a good girl and get in the car so I can take your ridiculous self home?”

Rather than respond verbally, Rose merely nodded, afraid if she opened her mouth that she might start crying. That had _really_ hurt. Mycroft hadn’t been holding back much in her opinion!

“Good,” Mycroft responded. He let go of her and opened the car door, giving her an expectant look. “And if you throw up in my car, I promise I’ll spank you all the way back to Baker Street. Have I made myself perfectly clear, young lady?” After she nodded to indicate she understood, Mycroft helped her into the car and climbed in after her instructing his driver to take them directly to 221B Baker Street.


	34. It All Falls Apart

As Mycroft’s driver merged the car into traffic, the much put-upon eldest Holmes watched his drunken sister out of the corner of his eye and wondered where he’d gone wrong with her. Any such musings were quickly cut short as he heard Rose beginning to sniffle. “Oh please, sister mine. You’ll have plenty to cry about later,” he scolded, not feeling particularly sympathetic just then.

“You smacked me in public!” Rose accused, crossing her arms over her chest.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and heaved a great sigh. “I did, yes. Your point?”

Rose continued on as if she never heard his response. “You ruined my rebound!”

Silence descended on the car as Mycroft took thirty seconds to process and interpret her usage of the word ‘rebound.’ When the interpretation was complete, he groaned loudly. “Dear God, please don’t say anything else Rose.”

“I wanted Billy-Bob’s number so he could be my rebound! I need a rebound and you ruined it!” Rose grumbled. “You’re horrible Mycroft, the most horriblest ever.”

“That is not a word and I’m being completely serious, please don’t discuss this with me,” Mycroft pleaded.

“Louise said I had options and option one was a rebound relationship with mad sex--” A horrified Mycroft clamped his hand over her mouth to prevent her from finishing her thought.

“Please, Rose,” Mycroft begged. “If there was ever a moment in your life to listen and obey, it is right now. We just… no. _No_. We cannot have this sort of conversation. You _will not_ drunkenly tell me about your romantic conquests, past, present or future. I would prefer to remain in the state of bliss that is continuing to pretend that you’re… you’re…” This was his worst nightmare, well above and beyond the chaos of the dance club they’d just left.

Rose looked at him, blinking almost owlishly as his hand remained on her mouth while she tried to process the nonsense coming out of his mouth.

“That you’re…” The proper word was a virgin, or virginal, but that sounded horribly vulgar. Luckily, Mycroft had a very extensive vocabulary and was able to select from a wide variety of appropriate synonyms. “That you’re chaste and untouched. It doesn’t matter if you marry someday and have children; I am now and forever going to remain in the happy, delusional frame of mind in which you continue to be virtuous. Now, please, if you have ever loved me for even five seconds of your life, you will have mercy on me and stop talking about your sex life and allow me to go on believing that you don’t have one. _Please_.” Mycroft removed his hand and tried to brace himself for more of this completely horrifying conversation while simultaneously wondering if it would be considered wrong to tape her mouth closed if she wouldn’t shut up.

The youngest Holmes looked at her brother with the blankest of expressions and Mycroft began clinging to the hope that she was going to be quiet for the remainder of the ride, which was surely the longest he’d ever experienced in the entirety of his life. But no, whatever gods existed in this world were clearly not smiling on him today.

“You said sex!” Rose exclaimed before collapsing against the back of the seat in hysterical giggles as if it were the funniest thing she’d ever heard, completely oblivious to the pained look on her brother’s now brightly blushing face.

\---------------------------------------- 

By the time they arrived at Baker Street, Rose was still giggling though Mycroft wasn’t sure why as he’d stopped listening for his own well being. He practically hauled her out of the car and retrieved a key for the front door of the building.

“You got keys? Who gave you keys?” Rose asked, watching him unlock the door as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Of course I have a key, Rose, and no one gave it to me. I had one made,” Mycroft explained. “Now please be quiet so you don’t wake up your landlady.”

“Do you have keys to everything in all the world?”

Mycroft rolled his eyes, refusing to engage in further conversation with her just then. He’d already been scarred for the remainder of his life in the car. With any luck he could escape Baker Street relatively unscathed, the relativity depending on whether or not he could forget the conversation in the car. Somehow, and he would never be entirely certain how, he managed to get Rose up the stairs with little manhandling and without her ending up rolling down the stairs. Once more a key was inserted into a door and he stepped inside the flat with Rose. John was half-asleep on the couch watching some telly and Sherlock was busy with a laptop; John’s, of course, not his own.

“Mycroft, why are you here?” Sherlock asked without looking up.

“Remember that conversation we had after Rose returned, something to the effect of how you’d handle things since she was practically going to be living with you?” Mycroft asked.

Sherlock looked up this time, his eyes narrowing. “Yes…”

“Oh good! Handle her then,” Mycroft said. He let go of Rose and tried to exit the flat, but Rose was swaying a bit on her feet so he couldn't in good conscience let her fall on her face. Not that she wouldn't deserve it for being so drunk.

His brother’s tone was far too joyful for Sherlock’s taste and just as he opened his mouth to comment on it, Rose decided to speak instead.

“Mycroft ruined my rebound,” Rose whined, swaying a little on her feet.

John was suddenly wide awake, panic coursing through his veins. Was she going to tell her brothers that they’d kissed? This was really, _really_ not the best time or place for that to become a topic of conversation. For one thing, he hadn’t put all his affairs in order yet!

“Sherlock, don’t ask questions. Trust me, don’t even acknowledge the remark because it will go down a dark path you don’t want to find yourself on!” Mycroft warned in a rare showing of brotherly concern.

“God, she’s _really_ drunk isn’t she?” Sherlock asked with a sigh.

Mycroft nodded. “Very much so; to the point I had to go and retrieve her from a club. It was an unforgettable experience in the worst possible of ways, I assure you.”

“So you retrieved her and brought her here because…why?”

“In order for you to handle it, of course,” Mycroft replied rather gleefully. “Welcome to being the main disciplinarian. Try not to let her drown in her own vomit once she gets sick and then tomorrow I would suggest a good spanking is in order. I’m certain you can sort it out all on your own. Have fun, brother mine.” Mycroft smirked delightedly before making a quick exit from the flat.

“You had a grand old time, didn’t you, love?” John asked Rose, chuckling as she nodded very enthusiastically. “You’ll wish you didn’t come morning, trust me.” When she started swaying once more, he got up from the couch to steady her, rather amused by how disconcerted Sherlock appeared to be.

“I was on a rebound. Going brilliant. Me and Billy-Bob… going places,” Rose told John very seriously, holding on to the doctor with both hands to steady herself. “Louise said I had options, and then Billy-Bob appeared like magic and I was like ‘YES!’ Very pretty, Billy-Bob. Mycroft hurt him, that was sad, but Billy-Bob got away. Isn’t that a funny little name? Billy-Bob, Billy-Bob, Billy-Bob,” Rose sang out the name.

“I’m going to murder Mycroft,” Sherlock grumbled.

“Let’s get you sitting down before you fall over, yeah?” John carefully led Rose over to the couch and sat her down. Her drunken chattering was somewhere between amusing and horrifying and John couldn’t decide if it was appropriate to laugh or not.

“I decided I like whiskey. Really, really good, that whiskey. Pirates drink whiskey and I’m in love with Killian but I can’t go to ‘merica and have him for a rebound. Dunno where he lives. I was a pirate once, did you know? I had a ship. And a hook. My wouldn’t play pirates. Hadda save the world, no time for pirates. That’s okay, because we had tea parties, and Sherlock was my pirate. Isn’t that a nice story John?” Rose asked.

John and Sherlock tried their best not to start laughing, but both men failed miserably. “Do not misconstrue my laughter, Rosenwyn,” Sherlock advised as he tried to stop laughing. “Because I am not pleased with you. Getting this drunk is not at all appropriate.”

“Huh?” Rose asked, looking and feeling very confused.

“Not appropriate. Drinking to excess is not appropriate and it’s irresponsible,” Sherlock explained.

Rose crinkled her nose. “I don’t unnerstand.”

Sherlock let out a sigh and shook his head, trying to think of a simplistic enough way to put it so that she’d understand. “You’ve been naughty. Just because John and I are laughing at what you say right now, doesn’t mean you haven’t been naughty.” He watched her face light up, as though a light bulb had turned on.

“Oh. I don’t think I wanted to do that,” Rose said slowly. She fell silent for a moment and leaned back against the couch. “Why are we spinning in circles?”

John, who’d dealt with many more hangovers in his life than Sherlock ever had, immediately knew things were taking a turn for the worse for Rose. “We’re not love. You’re not feeling well are you? Let’s get up and go to the loo in case you get sick.” He didn’t really wait for her to decide that was a good idea before he helped her to stand up and began herding her down the hallway.

“Sherlock, go get something for me to tie her hair up with,” John added. Her hair was already in a ponytail but it was long enough that he feared it would get in the way of the throwing up he knew was coming. “Maybe something more comfortable for her to wear later while you’re at it.”

\---------------------------------------------

Two hours later, John and Rose made their sixth trip to the loo with Sherlock right behind them. Each time Rose got sick, John held her- both for comfort and to make sure she didn’t fall over- and rubbed her back as she threw up. “That’s it love, get it all out,” he encouraged. “I’m right here; I’ll take care of you. You’re such a silly thing.” She was so utterly miserable that John was doing just about anything to help her through the worst of it. He couldn’t help but think that this was partly his fault. Rose had been hurt when he’d rejected her the night before. It was the right thing to do, John was certain of it, but it had hurt her deeply and if her comments about ‘rebounding’ were anything to go by, that hurt was at the heart of her presently drunken state. When she was finished with her dry heaves, Sherlock carried her out to the couch in the sitting room.

“I think she’s done for now,” John commented to Sherlock. “Hopefully she can sleep. Poor thing is going to be completely miserable in the morning.” He sat on the couch, letting Rose rest her head in his lap while he gently stroked her hair. “I remember my twenties. Early twenties, my glory days; I had my fair share of hangovers.”

“Are you trying to convince me to not be too hard on her?” Sherlock asked bluntly as he took a seat on the other end of the couch.

John shook his head. “I might feel bad she’s miserable, but I don’t approve. She’s not aware of her own limits, or is aware and willfully ignores them. One of these times she could give herself alcohol poisoning, not to mention the number of blokes out there who would jump at the chance to… Well, you know.” He didn’t like to think of anyone else touching her, with or without Rose’s permission, let alone while Rose was drunk. Really, he was going to have to get over this. If he wasn’t going to be with her- which he wasn’t- John knew he couldn’t keep her from finding someone else. That was what he wanted her to do, wasn’t it? Find someone else, someone her own age with greater prospects in life.

“That’s what I worry about,” Sherlock admitted. “That she’ll end up naked in an alley somewhere, completely out of her head because she just doesn’t stop to think. We’re too much alike, she and I.”

“I can see that,” John chuckled. “You’re both impulsive; act without thinking. A bit impatient at times, more than a little careless about your health, do things that you shouldn’t with a sort of consequences be damned attitude. Yes, you’re both very much alike.” Yet other than worrying about their health, John didn’t think he’d want them to be any other way. Though he had to admit that Sherlock could definitely stand to work more on his people skills, but John wasn’t going to hold his breath.

“Do you think she’s an alcoholic?” Sherlock asked very quietly, despite the fact that Rose had passed out once more.

“No,” John hurried to assure him. “Drinking past your tolerance level isn’t the best of habits to foster but right now I think she’s just an idiotic twenty-year-old, just like the rest of them. We’ll keep an eye on her though, make certain she doesn’t start going down that road. You’re really worried though, aren’t you?”

Sherlock nodded, his concern etched in his face. “I don’t want her to go through the things I did,” he admitted, carefully avoiding mentioning the word cocaine. He’d been clean for six years before he began using again, harder and more often than he had while living at home, desperate to combat his boredom as he struggled to get NSY to listen to him and not think him an amateur. Sherlock had really only cleaned up the second time because Mycroft had again threatened not to let him see Rose anymore. Admittedly, he’d ‘fallen off the wagon’ as that idiotic saying went, several times while Rose had been missing. The last thing Sherlock ever wanted was for Rose to suffer the way he had.

\----------------------------------------- 

Sometime around 530am John fell asleep on the couch, an arm around Rose as she slept like the dead with her head in his lap. Sherlock didn’t sleep at all as he wrestled over what to do with his sister. He had to take a hard line with Rose, make an impression on her. Drinking in and of itself was fine. Drinking herself into a stupor was not and he needed to make certain she knew the difference and would think twice the next time she went out partying. He’d do it, because he loved her, but he wouldn’t like it. He’d never liked it, even as he got better at hiding that over the years and all the many, _many_ times he’d had Rose over his knee. As he sat there continuing to think over the options, his mobile vibrated in his pocket.

‘How is our darling sister? M’

‘Asleep. What do you want? SH’

‘Just checking in. M’

‘We’re fine. I’m capable of handling this. SH’

‘I worry about you both, constantly. Rose especially. M’

‘She’s too much like you Sherlock. M’

‘Rather me than you. SH’

‘You were pouting as you typed that weren’t you? M’

Sherlock scowled, angry that his brother had known that. He knew there weren’t cameras in the flat, he’d removed them two days ago, which meant Mycroft really did know him and his habits too well for Sherlock’s comfort.

‘Piss off. SH’

‘I find it amusing that you’ve never changed. God help us if Rose really does take after you. M’

Sherlock growled and shoved his mobile back in his pocket.

\--------------------------------------------- 

It was nearly noon before Rose woke up, signaling that she had done so by groaning softly. “Too much light,” she whimpered. “Oh god my head. Coffee, need coffee, need ibuprofen, or I’m going to die.”

“Good morning!” Sherlock called loudly. “Or should I say afternoon?” He watched as Rose whimpered again and covered her ears with her hands momentarily.

Rose cracked her eyes open slowly and looked around her. “Why am I here?” she whispered.

“Because you were drunk and Mycroft dropped you off with me,” Sherlock explained. “You weren’t exactly in a condition where we could leave you on your own. Hence your sleeping on the couch.”

She looked and felt incredibly confused. Her stomach ached, her head was pounding violently, for some reason she was wearing pajama pants and her jacket had disappeared. “Mycroft… So that wasn’t a dream.” Rose’s face flamed red, more than able to imagine what sorts of nonsense she must have said to him, not to mention the fact she really had been dragged out of the club. She had remembered that, but she’d also been dreaming about it and had hoped it wasn’t actually true.

“No, that was not a dream. What’s the last thing you remember?” Sherlock asked.

“Being pulled out of the club, getting smacked and then a car ride. Beyond that I don’t remember anything at all,” she admitted. “I’m sure I was quite entertaining though. God, what a mess.”

“We won’t hold it against you,” John said, suddenly appearing beside her with coffee and something for her head. “At least not what you said, at any rate. Being that drunk we will hold against you,” he commented, his tone taking on a stern edge. After giving her the drink and pills he retreated to his chair by the fireplace to finish his tea.

“Very much so,” Sherlock echoed. “You are in a great deal of trouble, Rosenwyn.”

Rose gratefully began sipping the coffee, using it to wash down the pills John gave her. “No, Sherlock, I’m not. If how I feel at this moment is the way I’m going to feel all day, that’s plenty. Trust me on that. Besides, what is it with you and My and me and alcohol? I’m legal and just because you don’t like it doesn’t make me…un-legaled. ‘Sides, I’m twenty; I’ll do what I want.”

“Yes, because nothing says you’re a responsible adult like using the ‘I’m old enough to do what I want’ argument,” Sherlock replied, his voice dripping sarcasm. “There is nothing wrong with you drinking, provided it is in moderation. If you have a hangover afterwards, that wasn’t drinking in moderation. You know your limits and you specifically ignore them each and every time you drink. Not to mention the fact that you were drunk twice in less than 24 hours!”

She rolled her eyes and immediately regretted it when she suddenly felt dizzy. Rose leaned back against the couch, clutching her coffee as if it were the only thing standing between her and sudden death. “John, tell him he’s over reacting,” she requested.

“Oh no, don’t look at me to rescue you,” John warned, his Captain Watson tone coming to the fore. “You weren’t all that far away from alcohol poisoning Rose and you _know_ how I feel about risking your health. Be happy I’m not going to blister your arse alongside your brother. That’s the only leeway you’re getting out of me and I can certainly change my mind.” He gave her a meaningful look that said he was not in the mood to have yet another row over her health.

“What is this, pick on Rose day?” she whined. “My whole body hurts, my head is going to explode, and I was humiliated at a dance club by being dragged out of it by Mycroft--”

“All of which is your own fault,” Sherlock countered, crossing his arms over his chest. With her sitting on the couch it wasn’t hard for him to cut quite the imposing figure of authority as he stood over her with a stern look on his face. “I don’t like your attitude and I certainly don’t care for your lack of respect for yourself. If Louise was in a similar state as you last night, what would have happened had you poisoned yourself? Or what if instead of waking up on the couch and being given coffee, you woke up in some strange man’s bed, if not naked in an alley somewhere?!”

Rose glowered at her brother, eyes narrowing dangerously. “I had everything under control.”

“Then why did Anthea feel the need to tell Mycroft things were getting out of hand?” Sherlock asked. Anthea wasn’t one to exaggerate, nor needlessly bother Mycroft, whether it was a government matter or Rose.

“Because Mycroft’s level of ‘out of hand’ is heavily inflated, as is yours,” Rose retorted. “I can’t believe he had her following me. It’s like he doesn’t trust me at all!”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Of course he trusts you; just not when it comes to alcohol. You worry us both Rose! You haven’t got the sense in your head to stop and think about how much you should drink and not surpass an appropriate amount. The fact that Mycroft had to remove you from a club justifies our concern!”

“Stop shouting Sherlock, please. I’m in very serious pain right now and I think you’re being very unfair. I’m not a baby, you can’t baby me my whole life and you can’t just spank me for forever in perpetuity either because it’s not fair,” Rose whined. She momentarily debated on throwing her coffee mug at him, but decided against it. Instead, she put the mug on the floor and slowly rolled over to face the back of the couch.

John almost started laughing, because Sherlock had done that to him so many times when the consulting detective hadn’t gotten his way. The look of outrage on his flatmate’s face reminded John on his own and he was forced to cough several times to keep from laughing.

“Rosenwyn, you will sit up and you will listen to everything I have to say,” Sherlock ordered sternly. “I’m not in the mood for your petulance nor am I going to cater to the hangover you gave yourself. Sit up _now_ and put your listening ears on--” Sherlock stopped mid-sentence. Put your listening ears on? My god, he was turning into Mycroft! He quickly shook his head, almost as if trying to shake such a horrifying prospect right out of it, before giving Rose his attention once more.

“I’m going to count to three and you’re not going to like it if I get to three and you haven’t sat up properly yet. One….”

She didn’t move or even acknowledge him.

“Two…”

Again, Rose didn’t respond. Sherlock reached under the couch for one of the slippers John had left there earlier that morning. “Rose, get up. This is your last warning…. Three.” He smacked the slipper across her bum, hard and followed that first smack with several more before Rose finally decided to cooperate.

Or so Sherlock thought.

Rose, however, had other ideas. Spurred on by the raw emotions that had gone up and down and up and down over the last few days as she’d tried to sort things out with John, not to mention the serious hangover, Rose had had it. She went into complete meltdown mode and got up off the couch, ignoring the dizziness thanks to the anger that allowed her to overcome it momentarily. Rose wrenched the slipper out of his hand and threw it across the room, narrowly missing John’s head as he sat there rather horrified at the fighting between brother and sister. Instead the slipper hit the skull on the mantelpiece, knocking it to the floor.

“I HAVE HAD IT!” She screamed. “EVERYONE JUST SHUT THE HELL UP AND LEAVE ME ALONE!” Rose added a stomp for emphasis, in case either of the men weren’t entirely certain that she was having a tantrum.

“No, _no_ , you are not going to have a tantrum over being lectured,” Sherlock said firmly. “Sit down and listen before you’re in more trouble than you already are!”

“PISS OFF!” Rose shouted back at him. “I don’t want to hear anything from you Sherlock! You are the last person on the freaking planet to lecture me about drinking! Who do you think you are? You’re the brother that was doing cocaine after tucking me into bed and nearly died right in front of me for god’s sake!”

Suddenly, Rose wasn’t angry anymore and was instead completely horrified. She put her hands over her mouth, her face going pale as she stared at Sherlock, waiting for him to do or say something. Instead, she watched a mask of indifference descend over his face, but it couldn’t hide the hurt in his eyes; not from her.

Rose felt tears beginning to slide down her cheeks. “Sherlock… Sherlock I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that, I swear. Sherlock say something please. I’m so sorry.” As she reached out for him, desperate to make him understand she hadn’t meant to say something so horrible, Sherlock turned away from her. If she’d thought it hurt to be rejected by John the day before, it was nothing compared to the pain and fear she felt as Sherlock went to the door, retrieved his coat and left the flat.

“Sherlock! Sherlock please!” Rose called after him, following him onto the landing. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Please don’t walk away from me, please Sherlock.”

Her pleas went completely unanswered as Sherlock exited the building, slamming the front door shut behind him. Rose sank to the floor. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she pressed her face against them and began sobbing. What had she done?!


	35. The Case of the Missing Consulting Detective

John sat in stunned silence as Rose flung her accusation at Sherlock. That couldn’t possibly be true, could it? Sherlock might be reckless with his own health and safety, far more often than John was comfortable with, but get high anywhere near Rose, let alone overdose? That didn’t make any sense at all, but clearly the accusation hit home as Sherlock turned away from his sister and exited the flat without once looking back at her. This was very, very bad; far and away trumping the issue of alcohol consumption.

John watched Rose sink to the floor and pull her knees to her chest before beginning to cry. Before he even realized he’d left his chair, he was at her side, wrapping his arms around her. “He just needs a breather love. He needs a breather, just some time to wander and think. You know how he is,” John tried to soothe. Was that true though? Was it just a need to wander, think and walk off some steam or had he just witnessed an irreparable rip in what had been a very dysfunctional but ultimately loving relationship between Sherlock and Rose?

“I hurt him, John, I really hurt him,” Rose sobbed. She leaned into his touch and wrapped her arms around him in return. “I hurt him very, very badly and I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean a word of it, I was so angry and it came right out, just out of nowhere. What if he doesn’t come back?”

“Of course he’ll come back love. He lives here, and where else would he go? Not to Mycroft certainly,” John reminded her gently. “He’ll come back and then you can say you’re sorry and the two of you can have a good long talk about all of this. Trust me love, he’ll come ‘round. He loves you too much not to and you know that.” He began rocking her gently in his arms as they sat there on the landing, part of him hoping that they wouldn’t disturb Mrs. Hudson; another part of him wishing they did because her scones made everything better.

Scones, however, were not going to be enough to fix this, John was forced to acknowledge, Mrs. Hudson’s or otherwise. Rose’s frantic crying became deep heartfelt sobs that wracked her body and quite frankly scared the hell out of him, sounding so very desolate and full of anguish that John physically ached for her. “I know you’re upset and I won’t tell you that you shouldn’t be, but you’ve got to stop crying love. You’re going to be sick again and your poor body has had enough being sick after last night,” John said firmly. “You have to stop crying. Can you try? For me? Come on, deep breaths now. When you’re calm we sort this mess out, I promise.”

Only because she didn’t really want to throw up anymore, Rose did as John asked and struggled to take some deep breaths in order to calm down. It took far longer than John was comfortable with, but at long last her breathing and heart rate returned to normal. “Right; good girl,” he praised, kissing her forehead. “Let’s find somewhere else to sit while we sort this out.” He gently nudged her off his lap and stood up, stretching his back a bit. Between the nighttime trips to the loo with Rose and sitting on the landing just now, his back was a bit unhappy with him. Wrapping an arm around Rose’s waist to pull her close, John took her back into the flat.

“Alright, first order of business is you,” he stated in a firm tone as he guided her into the kitchen. “Between being sick last night, the amount of alcohol you consumed, and crying, it’s time to get some liquids in you before you get dehydrated. You should really try to eat something too. Do you remember the last time you ate?”

Rose shook her head and let John gently push her into a chair. “Lunchish yesterday I think,” she admitted softly. “Around 3 or 4 probably. I don’t know.” She picked up her mobile, having located it there at the table, and began sending off a series of frantic texts.

‘Come home, please, please come home.’

‘I’m so sorry, Sherlock.’

‘Sherlock, come back right now.’

‘I didn’t mean it, I swear. You’re the best brother in the world.’

“And there is half your problem last night,” John replied, giving her a stern look before turning to open the cupboard. “Don’t drink on an empty stomach like that. You and I are going to have a good long conversation about what is and isn’t safe drinking after everything else is sorted out.”

Rose ignored him completely, her fingers still tapping away at the keypad of her mobile.

‘Please Sherlock, please.’

‘I take it all back. I’m so sorry I hurt you. Please come back!!!!!’

‘Answer me Sherlock, please!’

‘Come home, I’m begging you.’

He popped a couple pieces of bread into the toaster, waiting for Rose to sputter indignantly, have a sarcastic comeback or snort derisively; none of which was forthcoming. Instead, he got a quiet and uncharacteristically cooperative, “Okay.”

Rose jumped when John set the plate of toast with jam and a cup of tea in front of her. “You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?” he asked.

“Not really no,” she admitted, blushing a bit. “He won’t answer me.”

John brushed some errant curls out of her eyes, tucking them behind her ear. “He needs some time, love. You know how he is; he’s got to have his pout. It hasn’t even been all that long Rose. I’m sure he’ll text you soon. Can you put your mobile down and eat, or do I need to hold on to it for you?”

“I’m not hungry John; or thirsty either. Unless it’s coffee,” Rose amended.

“You are hungry, you just don’t know it and your body would like some liquids that are not alcohol or caffeinated. Give me your mobile and do as you’re told,” John said sternly. “I’ll not have this ‘I’m too emotional to eat’ or any other excuses you Holmes lot always have in ready supply.”

“You’re so bossy. If this didn’t cost an arm and a leg, I might throw it at your head,” she grumbled, handing the mobile in question over to him with a dramatic eye roll. Rose immediately winced. “Rolling my eyes while hung over; bit not good.”

John pocketed her mobile and gave her a smile. “Complain all you want; I know you wouldn’t have me any other way,” he responded with a wink. Inwardly he shouted for joy when he got another little smile from her.

“I suppose not,” she admitted. “But only because I’m used to you. Too much work to get used to someone else.” This time her smile lasted a little bit longer before disappearing once more.

\---------------------------------------

One hour became two, and then three hours since Sherlock had left 221B was right around the corner. Rose felt terrible in many senses of the word, not the least of which was being sick, the worst of which was the realization that she was the most horrible sister in the world. John’s assurances to the contrary did little to soothe her growing anxiety that Sherlock might not come back, or, if he did, never talk to her again.

‘I’ll do anything to make it up to you.’

‘I was obscenely out of line.’

‘I’ve learned my lesson, I swear, I’ll never be so horrible again.’

‘Please come home.’

‘Please don’t leave.’

After watching Rose spend another few minutes sending out frantic texts, John placed his hand over Rose’s mobile in order to get her attention. “Why are you so convinced he won’t come home, love?” he asked gently. “That he won’t forgive you?”

“Because that’s what I’d do John,” Rose whispered. “That’s what I _did_. Mycroft and I had one row too many and more than enough hurtful words and I left. Speaking of Mycroft is going to have my head and you know what? He can. I think right now I’d hurt less if I lost my head.”

John looked rather alarmed for a few seconds before it dawned on him that she was due for more ibuprofen. “Well that’s not going to happen. What’s going to happen is you’re going to take something for that head of yours, lie down with a cool cloth over your eyes, and let me see if I can locate Sherlock.” Surely if Rose knew he hadn’t gone far she’d rest easier and be able sleep off her hangover rather than exacerbate it by being so tense and upset.

“Coffee?” she asked quietly. “Please John? Please?”

The doctor in him said no, she should really drink something that wouldn’t dehydrate her but John couldn’t look at her pleading face, so very pale, etched with worry and fear, and tell her no. “Promise me that for every cup of coffee you have today you’ll have two glasses of something better for you, like water or juice. Or milk if you have some in your fridge. Sherlock keeps doing weird things to ours so I never even touch it anymore. You won’t be doing yourself any favors if you get dehydrated.”

“I promise!” Rose replied enthusiastically. She waited practically with her mouth watering until she had a mug of coffee in her hands.

\----------------------------------

John kept up his end of the bargain and began texting people to find out if anyone had seen Sherlock. Really, there weren’t many people to text, but text them he did.

‘Hey Molls. Have you seen Sherlock today?’

‘Hi John! He sent a text earlier but I didn’t have any bodies or bits for him.’

‘Alright. If he texts you again or shows up, tell him to call his sister, will you?’

‘Sure! <3’

\--------------------------------------

Greg Lestrade was happily catching up on some action films he’d bought but not yet watched when his mobile chirped, indicating someone had sent him a text. Flipping the mobile open, he read the text from John.

‘Any idea where Sherlock is?’

Greg frowned and sent a response. ‘No… Was it my day to be his minder? -G’

‘No, but he’s gone missing.’

‘Missing as in I need to come in on my day off and find his arse? -G’

‘Only to have him tell me I bungled up some sort of plan of his or ruined an experiment? –G’

‘No, not yet anyway. Took off earlier. He and Rose had a big row.’

‘How long’s it been? –G’

‘About 3.5 hrs’

‘Still sulking I’m sure. –G’

‘If you hear from him, tell him to call Rose. She’s rather frantic.’

‘Will do. –G’

\--------------------------------------------------

‘Have you seen your brother? He & Rose had a bad row and Sherlock left.’

‘Rather busy John. North Korea is having a tantrum. Again. M’

‘The PM always seems to forget that this is their “thing” as Rose would say. M’

John’s brown eyes widened as he read Mycroft’s texts. ‘It is?’

‘About every 70 days they issue some new threat that they cannot possibly back-up. M’

‘Are you sure it’s always a lie?’

‘I don’t answer idiotic questions John. Tell Rose I’ll be there as soon as I can. M’

“I don’t understand how it is that your brother can sound so damn condescending in _text_ message,” John grumbled as he pocketed his mobile.

“Sherlock?!” Rose exclaimed, jumping up so fast from her chair that it toppled over. Two hours had passed since Sherlock had walked out of 221B and though she tried very diligently to hide her growing anxiety, Rose was, in fact, terrified.

“No, the more annoying one.”

For the first time since she’d woken up that morning, Rose laughed just a bit. “Mycroft _is_ the more annoying one,” she admitted before righting her chair and sitting down again. The little smile and laughter melted away almost as soon as it appeared and John’s heart broke just a little for her when it did.

\--------------------------------------------

When six hours passed, John had had about enough of his flatmate’s childishness. Stepping out onto the landing for privacy, he called Sherlock’s mobile and waited somewhat patiently for the beep to sound in order to leave a voicemail. “Sherlock, its John. It’s been six hours now and you need to come home. As in _now_ not when you decide you’re done with your gigantic strop. Rose is terrified that you won’t forgive her and she’s suffered long enough. Stop being a dick and come sort this out with her. If you aren’t back in an hour, I’m telling Mycroft to send people after you because this is a ridiculously long time to pout over an argument with your little sister. Please, for her sake, get your arse back here.”

“You’ll _tell_ me to send people after him?” Mycroft asked, arriving at 221B that very moment.

John had the good grace to blush a bit, but wasn’t deterred by a long shot. “If anyone can find him, you can. Now listen to me, before—no don’t give me that look Mycroft. This time _you_ be quiet and listen. Don’t you dare rake Rose over the coals for this, I won’t stand for it. She’s been in tears practically all day, in addition to being sick, and she doesn’t need you to make her feel any worse. Don’t upset her, or I’ll assist you from the building. Are we clear?”

Mycroft’s eyebrow arched as he listened to John essentially warn him about his behavior, something no one had done in a very, very long time, and immediately bristled at the doctor’s tone. “It is not my intention to cause Rose distress. I cannot, however, assist in solving the present problem if I don’t speak with her. I still have no idea what went on this morning,” he pointed out. “Now are you going to step aside and let me in, Dr. Watson, or do you need assistance in removing yourself from my path?”

The two men attempted to stare one another down, John’s look no less intense or semi-threatening for the difference in height between them. Finally, however, the doctor appeared to be satisfied and stepped aside so Mycroft could enter the flat. The eldest Holmes looked over at his sister on the couch, his brow immediately creasing with worry as his clear, observant eyes took in her appearance. “Poppet, you look awful,” he said quietly as he approached her. “You’re not going to get sick all over me, are you? And do stop worrying your lip.”

Her face colored slightly as Rose stopped biting her lower lip, a nervous habit she’d had for as long as she could remember. “Sorry,” she murmured, opening her eyes and looking up at him for a moment before they closed once again.

Mycroft leaned over her for a moment, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Don’t apologize, just stop doing it,” he replied, his tone gentle rather than scolding. “Have you had anything other than coffee to drink today? Anything to eat?” She was far too pale for his liking and her eyes, even in those few seconds he’d looked into them, were dull and red rimmed. Whatever the problem with Sherlock was, her wellbeing was his first and foremost concern at that moment.

“Toast with jam, a chocolate chip scone from Mrs. Hudson. She came up and clucked over me earlier and even fussed at John to take very good care of me,” Rose admitted. “She called me her poor little lamb.”

“She’s had some scrambled eggs as well,” John added. “I tried to get her to drink some tomato juice, to get some vitamin C into her, but--” He chuckled as Rose scrunched up her nose and stuck her tongue out. “Yeah, didn’t get anywhere with that.”

“Hates tomatoes, always has,” Mycroft said, a hint of fondness in his voice. “Other than in marinara sauce she won’t have them. Has she given you quite a hard time? You’ve never been a very good patient, poppet.” He kissed her forehead again before sitting down on the couch, not even remotely surprised when she moved closer to him for a cuddle. Putting his arm around her, he pulled her just a little bit closer to his side.

John smiled and shook his head. “Rose has been a wonderful patient this time around and even agreed to trade cups of coffee for plenty of water and juice to keep hydrated.”

“That’s quite remarkable,” Mycroft admitted, looking pleasantly surprised. “And here I thought I’d have to come scold you for drinking so much and then being a poor patient. I’m glad I don’t have to. It’s rather refreshing to be the nice brother for a change and let Sherlock handle the messy things. Speaking of our dearest brother, what happened earlier?” He immediately felt her tense up as he attempted to casually ask the question.

Before Rose began her recap of the argument, John excused himself to go thank Mrs. Hudson for the scones. Figuring it was best to leave the siblings to sort things out, he hoped the sweet landlady wouldn’t mind if he dropped in for a visit.

Mycroft listened in silence, not at all surprised to hear Rose had been obstinate, cranky, and ill-mannered. She was on a good day, why wouldn’t she be while suffering the ill effects of too much alcohol? No, if he was honest, Rose was typically feisty but sweet, a girl he was proud of much of the time, even if her judgment left much to be desired at times. That was why her admission about how the argument had ended took him so much by surprise. It was very unlike Rose to be cruel.

“Oh Rose,” he said quietly, his tone heavy with disappointment. “How could you?”

“I really didn’t mean to, and I didn’t mean a word of it, I swear,” Rose said earnestly, trying to make him understand that she hadn’t intended to hurt their brother. Guilt, heavy and solid, had been settled in her chest all day.

“If you weren’t so clearly remorseful, I’d scold you for being a completely thoughtless brat,” Mycroft admitted, wrapping both arms around her now. “You have no idea what sort of price Sherlock had to pay for that night. I wasn’t even aware you knew the truth of what happened.”

Rose took several deep breaths, trying to stave off yet another round of tears, before she responded. “I was ten, not stupid My. There was a needle near where he collapsed and the EMTs specifically directed the officers to collect it. Greg tried his best to shuffle me away from all that and shield me but he wasn’t entirely successful.” The Detective-Inspector, before he was promoted to the position he currently held, had been among the first responders on scene that night and done a marvelous job of giving her a good cuddle before Mycroft had got home.

“I should have known better than to try and keep you in the dark.” In truth, Sherlock had begged him not to reveal his addiction to Rose and Mycroft, already feeling rather guilty at having to evict him from the family home, had readily acquiesced.

“It’s been hours and hours Mycroft and nobody’s heard from him,” Rose admitted. “John keeps telling me of course he’ll come home but I’m not entirely convinced that he will. I don’t know if I’d want to look at me either after what I said.”

“Try not to worry; we can track him if it becomes necessary. I had him chipped,” Mycroft said casually.

She looked up and her eyes widened. “You’re kidding,” Rose responded, hoping that was the case.

Mycroft’s eyebrow rose. “Am I?”

“You have to be kidding. I’m pretty sure that’s illegal.”

“And your point would be what precisely?”

Rose frowned. “Um… None I guess?”

“Indeed.” Mycroft smirked happily to himself as Rose looked quite alarmed.

“He’s not serious,” a voice spoke up from the doorway of the flat. “I’d know if I was being drugged and that’s the only manner in which someone could put a dog chip in me.”

Rose nearly fell off the couch in her eagerness to get up and hug Sherlock. Her fast, jerky movements quickly caught up with her though and she stopped halfway between the couch and the door. “Oh god, that was such a bad idea,” she moaned. “Fast is bad; very, very bad.” She closed her eyes which somehow only made it worse. Before she could consider how best to do a face plant on the floor, strong arms circled her and easily kept her upright.

“Well, this is bound to get disgustingly sentimental within a matter of minutes so I shall take my leave. Do endeavor to play nicely, children,” Mycroft commented condescendingly before slipping out the door.

Sherlock carefully led Rose back to the couch and immediately pulled her into his lap when he sat down. Not that Rose would have given him much chose to do otherwise, considering the way she was suddenly half wrapped up in his jacket while he was still wearing it, clinging onto him as if she might never let go.

“You came home,” she whispered, looking truly surprised and yet incredibly joyful. “You’ve been gone for ages and ages, I was so worried!”

“Obviously I’m home, I live here. And…” Sherlock paused to consult the clock on his mobile. “Seven hours hardly qualifies as an “age.”” It really wasn’t possible to cuddle her any closer, but Sherlock tried just the same, resting his cheek on top of her head as he held on tightly.

“Sherlock, I’m so sorry. Please, please forgive me for being so horrible to you. That was completely unforgiveable and I can’t even offer a good excuse other than I was completely hung over, still am in fact but--” Whatever else she might have said was cut off as Sherlock gently clamped a hand over her mouth, only to recoil a few seconds later.

“You _licked_ my hand!”

“I’m aware. You had your hand over my mouth.”

“Because I wanted you to shut up and that was the quickest way to accomplish that. You don’t even know where this hand has been,” Sherlock pointed out.

“Sure I do. It was attached to you for the last seven hours.” A smile tugged at her lips, making it hard for Rose to keep a straight face.

Sherlock didn’t even try. He chuckled, the sound rumbling deep and rich in her ear, before kissing her forehead. “If you can manage to keep quiet for a few moments I have something to say,” he stated once he’d grown serious again. “I’m not angry with you or upset or even mildly disgruntled at what you said earlier. You had every right to say--”

“No, no I didn’t. And I’ll lick it again,” Rose threatened as he made to cover her mouth once more.

Sherlock settled for a firm pinch on her thigh. “Make a small attempt to behave yourself, if you please. Though I would have preferred we converse about your very valid point, that doesn’t take away from the fact that it was entirely valid. Who am I, indeed, to lecture you about alcohol, in light of my history?”

Rose’s face grew red, her eyes downcast and Sherlock paused to cup her chin and gently tilt her head up. “Who I am is your brother who loves you very much,” he said softly. “And because I love you not only do I want you to make safe choices, but I don’t want you to make the choices I made. If anyone owes someone an apology it is me, because I…” He was suddenly tongue-tied and stopped speaking until he was certain he could do so with an even, controlled tone. “Because I’m your big brother and I failed you miserably that night. Completely and utterly failed you, when you were still fragile after Mother’s death.

“I left this morning not because I was wounded by what you said, but by the realization that you _knew_ I failed you. Your words brought to mind many memories and feelings I thought I’d deleted, the worst of which was guilt. I didn’t know that you knew and I hadn’t ever wanted you to find out that I’d failed you, not only by my actions but by my forced exile from the house while I completed a rehab program.”

Sherlock paused once more and took a deep breath before continuing, his eyes never leaving hers. “I know my absence caused you pain. I heard it in your voice every time we talked on the phone while I was away, I heard the question that you bravely never asked me: When will you come home Sherlock? Please… forgive me for causing you that pain and for not being there when I should have been. _Please_.”

Rose was silent for thirty seconds, quickly considering the words she wanted to say before actually saying them aloud. “I don’t get to call you an idiot and actually mean it very often, but today I mean it. Sherlock, you’re an idiot. I knew that night exactly what you’d done. I saw the needle and Mycroft told me you couldn’t come home for a while because you were sick. As I told Mycroft earlier, I was ten, not stupid.

“I was never angry with you for being gone that month and honestly, there’s nothing to forgive,” she said, her tone both serious and earnest. “You came back and something like that night never happened again. That was all that mattered, that you were okay and you were back home. Have you seriously been walking around- or whatever it is you’ve been doing for seven hours- wondering if I’d forgive you for something I’ve clearly known about for ten years?”

A hint of pink crossed his cheekbones and Sherlock huffed a bit before responding, “Well, when you put it that way…”

“When I put it that way it seems a bit silly. Especially when I’ve been here crying almost all day long. John’s very upset with you, by the way. He didn’t say it in front of me, but I heard a lot of muttering about someone being a dick, and generally when he says that, it’s you,” Rose pointed out.

“Language,” Sherlock scolded, pinching her thigh again. “I think you’re the silly one, sitting here thinking terrible thoughts all day when you were already feeling poorly.” He kissed the top of her head. “Did you really think I wasn’t coming home? Seriously? Even Gavin was texting me. Budge up so I can get my coat off.”

“His name is Greg, Sherlock. Greg. As in short for Gregory,” Rose scolded before carefully moving back onto the couch. Sherlock tossed her his mobile and she began scrolling through the messages.

‘Sherlock, you’re wanted at home. –G’

‘John keeps texting me asking if I’ve seen you. I don’t want to see you. –G’

‘Alright, apparently Rose is upset. Can you go home already? –G’

‘Your brother is now texting me. How do I always get caught up in your nonsense? –G’

‘Mycroft sent me another text. In case anyone is confused you’re NOT my division. –G”

‘Unless I was head of the ‘pain in people’s arses division.' In which case YOU would be on the receiving end of a ‘discussion’’ –G”

‘Sherlock, you berk, GO HOME!!! And tell Mycroft to lose my number!!! –G’

Rose smiled, returning the mobile to Sherlock when he sat back down. “I’ll have to thank him when I go back to work. Not just anyone can call you a berk, after all.”

“Very true, and you’re not one of those people,” he warned. Sherlock tried not to smile when Rose helped herself to his lap once more. “Did you really, sincerely believe I wasn’t coming home?”

“Yes. Because if Mycroft had said to me what I said to you, or something of a similarly terrible nature, I wouldn’t have come home,” Rose whispered.

Sighing heavily, Sherlock wrapped his arms around her as if he could anchor her to the UK by doing so. “That’s not allowed anymore darling,” he whispered. “You simply cannot get rid of us.”

“Well this is much better,” John decided as he entered the flat. “Everything sorted out?” He could tell by the contented look on Rose’s tired face that she, at least, was feeling significantly better.

“Mostly everything. We still have a discussion that needs to take place, don’t we Rose?” Sherlock looked down at his sister, an arched eyebrow indicating that he was expecting her to agree.

The youngest Holmes sighed heavily. “I’d roll my eyes but that hasn’t worked out well for me today. So just take note that mentally I’m rolling them at you because that is the dumbest euphemism ever and completely unnecessary, considering everyone in this room knows exactly what you mean. Even _Greg_ knows what that means now,” she pointed out, referencing one of the detective-inspector’s texts.

Sherlock frowned at her in mock exasperation, though he doubted Rose would be able to discern if he was actually exasperated or not and deliberately kept his tone even when he replied. “Always complaining. Would you prefer me to say ‘Rosenwyn, you’ve been very naughty and I’m going to spank you until you howl’ instead?”

Rose stood there, tongue-tied for a moment as she tried to discern if he was teasing her or actually frustrated with her. “’Discussion’ is good,” she squeaked. She tried to cover the squeak up with a few coughs and both men allowed her to think she’d succeeded.

“I thought so too,” Sherlock quipped, looking far too satisfied with himself.

“Before all… this… gets any further,” Rose began. “And please don’t think I’m trying to be a pain, but I would very much like to postpone any discussion for tomorrow. I’m a bit better than I was this morning, but I think my last meal might make reappearance if… well… you know.” A very unwelcome blush crept into cheeks as she diverted her gaze from her brother’s.

“If I put you over my knee, you mean?” Sherlock couldn’t resist teasing her sometimes, but regretted it almost immediately when a pained expression settled on her now scarlet face. “I’m glad you said something,” he admitted. “I’m sure John doesn’t want to clean that sort of a mess up.”

“And why, exactly, would I be the one cleaning it up?” John asked with an impatient tone. He crossed his arms over his chest and gave Sherlock a penetrating look.

“Oh, I know that look. Best acquiesce Sherlock, or he’s going to go all Captain Watson on you,” Rose teased, a smile lighting up her face.

“Because you’re a doctor, that’s why,” Sherlock continued, ignoring Rose’s warning.

“Right. I went to med school to learn how to clean up someone’s throw up. Grow up, Sherlock, for god’s sake.” John rolled his eyes and went to make tea while the Holmes siblings snickered behind his back.

“He rhymed,” Rose giggled before pressing her face against Sherlock’s shirt to stifle her laughter.

While John couldn’t see their laughter, they also couldn’t see the smile on his face that gave away how pleased he felt that everyone was home and things were to set rights once more in Baker Street.


	36. Family Dynamics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rose and Sherlock have some fun with languages in this chapter. English translations provided, appearing in brackets and italics.

‘Hi. You awake?’

‘I am. Why are you? Its half eleven. M’

Rather than receiving another text in response, his mobile rang. “Why do I have this strange feeling that you’re either going to tell me something that will cause me great displeasure or that you want something you already know I won’t give you?”

“Ha! None of the above,” Rose replied.

Mycroft could hear a smirk in her tone and rolled his eyes.

“Actually, I just wanted to say thanks for coming over today. I really needed that cuddle and it meant a lot to me, especially since you didn’t scold me terribly for what I said,” Rose explained.

“We most certainly did not cuddle,” Mycroft responded, sounding a tad bit annoyed. He scowled when he could hear her snickering.

“If that was not a cuddle, which pretty much anyone but you in the world would call it, then what was it?” Rose asked.

“A thoroughly frightening exercise in sentiment in which you imitated an octopus and attached yourself to my person. I merely held on to you so that you didn’t fall on the floor and injure yourself.”

Rose tried to suppress her giggles but her efforts ultimately failed. Instead, she giggled infectiously which, unbeknownst to her, made her eldest brother smile. Eventually she regained control of herself and resumed their conversation. “That made a very interesting mental picture, just so you know. I wish I could draw well enough to put that on paper. And I love you too, Mycroft. Um… am I still allowed to come with you to that diplomatic thing?”

Mycroft sighed heavily on the other end, more for show than anything else. “Are you going to drink yourself into a stupor?”

“No,” she immediately replied, her tone very sincere. “One drink at the very most. I promise I won’t do anything to embarrass you.”

“Then yes, you may still accompany me. Will you please go to bed now?” Mycroft asked.

“I am in bed, right this very second, snuggled under the duvet.” Her tone was practically a form of verbal smirking and it made Mycroft roll his eyes.

“In that case, will you please go to sleep you obnoxious hoyden?”

“I suppose, if you insist,” Rose decided.

“I do insist,” Mycroft assured her.

“Fine, fine, fine,” Rose pretended to grumble. “I love you My. Goodnight.”

Mycroft smiled at her words. “And I you. Goodnight Poppet.”

\--------------------------------------------

“Ah, there she is,” John commented with a smile when Rose stumbled into their flat the next morning. “We were wondering if you’d ever get up. Coffee will be ready in a tick, love.” He got up from the table to start her coffee.

“John was wondering, I was unconcerned,” Sherlock clarified. He grunted and gave his little sister a look of a displeasure when Rose plopped into his lap, effectively sitting on the journal he was reading. “Did you not see I was reading that?”

“Do you not see I don’t care?” Rose asked. “I’m feeling clingy, let me cling.” She smiled as Sherlock wrapped his arms around her.

“No, you’re not ‘clingy’ as you put it. You’re trying the patented ‘I’m so cute and sweet, how can you possibly think of spanking me?’ maneuver to try and persuade me not to blister your bum today,” Sherlock stated. “That ceased to be effective with me after your little adventure in the bookstore.” He smirked when Rose began blushing.

“It wasn’t exactly an adventure,” Rose grumbled. “You’re such a meanie. John, Sherlock’s being mean to me!” She called out teasingly.

“Now, now, don’t make me put you two in separate corners,” John replied with a laugh as he came out of the kitchen. He gave Rose her coffee and sat down in his chair by the fireplace with a cup of his own. “You two are a handful.”

The siblings pointed accusing fingers at one another, indicating who they thought was the actual handful out of the two of them. When John ignored them completely they began physically poking one another, looks of fierce determination on their faces. The poking became more and more aggressive in nature until he was worried they might actually injure one another, or at the very least spill Rose’s precious coffee. “Very mature you two,” John commented, picking up one of several newspapers that were delivered daily. He then proceeded to try very valiantly to focus his attention solely on the newspaper and leave the Holmes siblings to… well, whatever it was they were doing.

Wordless poking progressed to wordless pushing, with Sherlock slightly perplexed at how Rose managed to say seated on his lap despite his best efforts to dislodge her. No doubt it was some shifty dancer skill, but he saved the questions for later. Rose, in an amazing amount of foresight that she rarely seemed to possess, hurriedly put her coffee down before she spilled it all over the place just as Sherlock pushed her hard enough to finally send her spilling out of his lap and onto the thud with a floor.

The thud was promptly followed by some banging from below accompanied by a “BOYS!”

John shot up from his chair at the sound of the thud and momentarily couldn’t decide what to do first: check on his possibly concussed patient or strangle his flatmate. The potential patient settled the matter, however, by beginning to giggle crazily, causing the doctor to look back and forth between the two siblings. “Yeah… No, I’m just not going there,” he decided. “You two just kill each other if you want, but don’t come crying to me for medical treatment. You can bleed all over the floor for all I care if you’re going to push each other around like a band of hooligans.” John ended his diatribe with a huff as he sat back down and opened the newspaper once more.

The Holmes siblings, one on the couch the other on the floor, looked at one another and burst out laughing once more. Despite his announcement at being done with their antics, even John couldn’t keep from joining the laughter. Putting down his newspaper, the three of them enjoyed a few moments of deep belly laughs before catching their breath and calming down.

“You might want to help your sister up from the floor,” John finally said. “Be careful with her, or you really will hurt her one of these days.”

“Hurt Rosie? Never!” Sherlock protested vehemently. He stood up, his legs on either side of Rose’s torso and easily lifted her onto her feet as if she weighed no more than a feather. “I didn’t actually hurt you at all, did I?” he whispered in her ear.

“No, of course not,” Rose assured him, hugging Sherlock tightly. “Though I for one consider myself sufficiently punished for my alcohol related activities, since I was ruthlessly thrown to the floor by my big brother who has a sworn duty to protect me from all harm. Apparently that vow clearly does not include himself as a potential bringer of harm.”

She smiled and took a deep breath. “Well, I feel like I’ve learned something very, very valuable from this Sherlock and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your care and concern. And now I’ll leave you gentlemen to your… whatever you have going on today and will dash back to my flat to get dressed.” Rose quickly turned away from her brother and began sprinting across the flat, so very, very close to freedom.

Sadly for Rose, the only satisfaction she would gain from her clever little speech was the fact that she threw Sherlock off for a moment before he could respond. “Rosenwyn Aramantha, _come here_ ,”he ordered in a very stern tone.

The youngest Holmes stopped mid-step, one foot in the air, freedom in the form of escape to her own flat so close and yet so far.

Sherlock watched her, dark eyebrows slanted as he frowned while she continued to stand there in a perfect imitation of a statue. “Yes, I’m very impressed with your ability to stand on one leg for an extended period of time Rosenwyn,” he finally spoke, his tone full of exasperation. “That is a skill that will undoubtedly take you far in life--”

He paused to glare at John who was presently chuckling as he entered the kitchen and began attempting to clean up the woefully messy room. Giving John a _look_ , he turned back to Rose. ”Yet, oddly enough that’s not what I asked you to do, is it?”

Rose sighed and put her foot down, barely feeling a twinge in her other leg. Slowly she turned around and walked back towards Sherlock. “I was holding out hope for a stay of execution,” she explained. “Can’t blame a girl for trying, right?”

“I just want to add, for the record, that was an excellent try at talking yourself out of trouble,” John commented, outright laughing now.

“Yes, thank you so much for your invaluable assistance John,” Sherlock commented in a dull tone. He didn’t spare the other man a glance this time, keeping his eyes on Rose, who was now standing in front of him. “We’re not going to argue about this every step of the way, are we?”

Immediately Rose thought about their fight the day before and her gaze shifted downward. “No, sir, we won’t.”

Sherlock made a face indicative of having tasted something particularly sour when he heard Rose’s choice of words. “Please don’t do that. Yes, sir or no, sir me. I’m not Mycroft; I don’t want, nor need, that. A simple yes or no in whatever language we both know will suffice,” he replied in an even tone, keeping his gaze steadily on his sister.

Rose looked up at him and hesitated briefly before responding in Italian. “Mi sento stranamente in dovere di dire che mi dispiace.” _[“I feel oddly compelled to say I’m sorry.”]_

Her older brother chuckled. “Semel tantum est quod ad te oratio fuisset populous sic formaliter Mycroft comprehenduntur maxime ingratos.” _[“Let’s just say that the few times I’ve been required to address people so formally, Mycroft included, were particularly unpleasant.”]_ Sherlock waited for her to respond and was more than a little surprised that Rose appeared to be slightly baffled.

“I know that one!” John called from the kitchen, sounding particularly proud of himself. “It’s Latin.”

“Very good John,” Sherlock chuckled. “You’re doing better than Rose is at the moment. Are you confused, sister dear? Must be a bit rusty. And after I took all that time to teach you Latin! Tsk.” He shook his head feigning disappointment.

Rose snorted in contempt, adding a dramatic eyeroll to her retort. "Deset dana nije značajna duljina vremena. To nije poput plesači imaju hitnu potrebu da se s njihovom latinskom. _["_ _Ten days is not a considerable length of time. It's not like dancers have a pressing need to keep up with thier Latin.”]_ And you weren’t referencing all the trouble you got into for buying me my own pirate ship, were you?”

John shook his head, feeling lost once again, having no clue what language that could even be.

“Croatian, impressive,” Sherlock admitted with a grin. Unlike when Mycroft tried to prove he was smarter than the rest of the world, Sherlock included, he was proud to see Rose show off her intellectual prowess. This was due in large part because he’d been so involved in teaching her things as a little girl. “Nein, nicht der Piratenschiff Vorfall.” _[“No, not the pirate ship incident.”]_

“Alright, now you two are just showing off,” John grumbled. “Do you even remember what you were talking about anymore?”

The Holmes siblings suddenly looked rather resigned, as if recognizing that they had gone off track and both rather regretted having to get back on it.

“Sadly yes,” Rose admitted with a heavy sigh. “I suppose now is as good a time as any, right?”

“Right,” Sherlock agreed. “My room then.”

“Let’s go next door. Bit more privacy and then John won’t have to feel awkward,” Rose suggested. “Please?”

Seeing no reason to refuse, Sherlock agreed and sent her back to her flat. He looked around briefly in the sitting room for an implement and, upon spotting John’s slippers under the couch yet again, Sherlock grabbed one left the flat.

“Come back and have breakfast when you’re finished! Both of you!” John called after them.

“Ooooh, that’s gonna suck,” Rose announced upon seeing the slipper.

“It will, but you’ll live to misbehave another day,” Sherlock promised, giving her a sympathetic look.

Rose somehow managed to give him a small smile. “Someday I will stop making idiotic decisions, right? Lie if you have to, just to make me feel better.”

“Probably not,” Sherlock admitted. He sat on her couch and began rolling up his sleeves. “That’s the human condition Rose. You’re bound to make mistakes. There’s no age where you automatically stop making them. Just try not to repeat any and that will cut down on the number you make overall.”

“Gee, you’re so helpful,” Rose grumbled, shooting him a dark scowl.

Sherlock sat down on the couch and began rolling up his sleeves, inwardly chuckling as Rose began shuffling her feet a bit and looking anywhere but at him, as per usual. “Alright, Rosie, come here,” he beckoned, waving her over.

With the air of one about to be beheaded, Rose closed the distance between them and pushed her pajama bottoms down to her knees before leaning over Sherlock’s lap. He made quick work of pulling down her pants and Rose cringed, closing her eyes as she waited for him to start spanking. She didn’t have to wait long as the slipper began smacking across her bum, leaving a sting in its wake. Unlike other implements that worked up to an uncomfortable sting, the slipper immediately stung. Rose was rather dismayed to find that, despite being older than when she’d last been smacked with a slipper, it was no less uncomfortable and still generally awful.

“Ow,” Rose whined with the first smack, feeling the sting blossom across her left cheek. As the next several swats fell and color started to rise on her bum, Rose’s efforts to not be vocal fell by the wayside. She hissed, winced, and made whiny noises through the first half dozen smacks as Sherlock kept up a steady pace of crisp smacks, seemingly covering every inch of her bum in a band of stingy heat.

“Whether or not you like to admit it,” Sherlock began lecturing. “You have a habit of making choices that result in circumstances where your safety is at risk. This is a dangerous habit Rose that you must curb and do that now. You have to think first before acting. If not for your own sake, then for mine!” Satisfied with the color of her cheeks, the slipper moved down to her sit spots, working on painting them as pink as her bum.

“Ow! Sherlock, seriously, owwwww! Stop now, I get it,” Rose protested, beginning to squirm over his lap.

“No, you don’t “get it”,” he contradicted. The slipper was rather an efficient implement, the cumulative effect of the swats making Rose wriggle like an eel. Sherlock tightened his hold on her waist, unwilling to risk Rose wriggling her way off his lap. “Don’t be concerned, however; I’ll _continue_ to _help_ you until you do _“get it.””_

“That’s not comforting!” Rose wailed, tears heavy in her voice as her right hand flew back to try and protect her hot, throbbing bum.

Sherlock paused to catch her hand and rubbed the palm of it gently with his thumb. “There are limits Rose and when you choose to consistently push them or willfully ignore them that is something I’m not going to tolerate. I truly don’t have a problem with you drinking, provided you can be mature enough to recognize there are limitations and it comes nowhere near a substance abuse issue.”

Feeling as though he’d given her enough of a break to catch her breath and shore up some bravery, Sherlock decided it was time to continue. “We have a ways to go yet,” he admitted, raising the slipper once more. “Because I _really_ don’t want to teach you this lesson _more than once_ , so I’m going to make it a _very memorable one_.” Skillfully he used the slipper to drive home the important points in his lecture with sharp, heavy-handed smacks. “However, I _will_ if I _have_ to.”

Rose almost immediately resumed squirming over his lap, twisting her hips in an effort to move her bum out of the line of fire, kicking with abandon. “Sherlock! Please, please stop! Owww!” After the slipper fell particularly hard across her sit spots, she began to cry and threw her left hand back as well, desperate to thwart his efforts to soundly spank her.

Sherlock caught it and didn’t bother to pause this time, merely pinning it to the small of her back as he had the other. “You _will_ have some _respect_ for _yourself_ and know what you can and cannot do, and that’s _not_ limited to alcohol alone.” He stopped briefly to pull Rose closer to him and then restrained her legs a bit by hooking his right leg over them, more than a little concerned she might just squirm right off, thanks to her kicking and wriggling. “If you _can’t_ manage todo that, then _this_ is what _will_ happen _every_ time until you _can._ If _you_ can’t remember your limits, then _I’ll remind you_ of them and make sure you _don’t like it_ in hopes that next time you’ll give a bit of thought to your choices. Does that make sense to you?”

Her sobbing seared his heart and he winced in sympathy at how very red her bottom and sit spots were. The slipper was effective achieving in about two and a half dozen moderate smacks what would have taken him much longer using only his hand. Though it was completely deserved, that didn’t make it any easier for Sherlock to be the one making her cry. “Alright, we’re going to have a break and then finish up, alright? Though not with the slipper.” Sherlock released her hands and carefully righted her clothing before helping her up from his lap.

“Sorry, sorry, ‘m sorry,” Rose repeated through her sobs. When he stood and wrapped his arms around her, she leaned against his chest while both her hands went back to rub her hot, stinging bottom.

“I know you are darling,” he whispered in her ear. “I know. You were such a brave girl, I’m so proud of you. That was a nasty one,” Sherlock commiserated. He rocked her gently as they stood there, until finally her hands left her bottom and Rose clung to him.

“Wanna be done, Sherlock, wanna be done!” Rose’s sobs were so deep and heartfelt they practically racked her insides. “’m so sorrrrrrrry.”

Sherlock held her tighter and closer, kissing the top of her head as he tried to decide what to do. He had planned to put her over his knee again and give her upper thighs some attention from his hand. Looking at her now, however, clearly miserable, shoulders shaking, pleading for leniency and Sherlock just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“If I stop now and this ever happens again, I will use that slipper on your behind every night for a week and no amount of tears or pleading or anything else will dissuade me from following through on that threat if I have to. That’s how serious I am Rosenwyn. Do you understand me, young lady?” Sherlock tipped her chin up, forcing her to look at him. When Rose nodded enthusiastically and continued to cry, Sherlock hugged her tightly once more, swaying slightly in a soothing rocking motion as they stood there. “That’s my good girl,” he murmured in her ear. “My good girl.”

\---------------------------------------------

While Sherlock did his best to soothe his well spanked sister, John was busy writing up his and Sherlock’s latest case. Something was distinctly missing, however, to complete his comfort while sitting at the desk. It wasn’t the chair, which was recently refurbished after one of Sherlock’s more destructive experiments. He had a fresh cup of tea so it wasn’t that. Arm wasn’t hurting; his belly was full, what was missing? Oh yes! His slippers; that’s what was missing.

Rising from the chair, John crossed the room and looked under the couch. “That’s odd,” he said aloud. “I’ve only got one. Where’d the other one go?” He’d worn them both at the same time, taken them off at the same time, as every normal slipper wearing person does. The other one must have gotten kicked somewhere else in the flat. Or, Sherlock had stolen it for some sort of evil purposes, possibly even just to be an annoying dick. That would be very like Sherlock, to take something and get a rise out of him; anything to combat boredom! It was a wonder John had any belongings left at all, let alone that their flat managed to have proper furniture on a regular basis. “On a slipper hunt I go then,” John commented, more than a little irritation in his tone.

\-------------------------------------------------------

“Ready for breakfast?” Sherlock asked as he finished wiping her face with a cool flannel.

“I want coffee,” she replied in a dull tone.

Sherlock make a tutting noise at her. “John will make you eat food.”

“Coffee.”

“No, he’ll insist on the food part of it.”

“Well as long as there’s coffee,” Rose grumbled, rolling her eyes dramatically.

“You’d be a very easy target for torture, sister dear. Just take away your coffee. In approximately eight hours you’d tell them everything they wanted to know.” Sherlock smirked at the look of annoyance that flitted across her face before Rose practically stalked out of her bathroom. He followed right behind her as headed next door in search of coffee.

Upon entering 221B the Holmes siblings looked puzzled for a moment as they surveyed John hunting rather intently for something. “Sherlock what did you do with my slipper? I’ve been looking…” The doctor’s voice trailed off as he turned to look at his flatmate and spotted the object in question in the detective’s hands. “Oh there it is! Oh… _oh,_ ” he murmured, realizing that his slipper had been absconded with for disciplinary purposes.

Sherlock handed the slipper to its owner and then threw Rose a look brimming with mischief. “Rose, tell John thank you for loaning us his slipper.” He wasn’t at all serious but knew the reaction would be spectacular; he wasn’t disappointed.

The youngest Holmes turned to face her brother, her blue eyes practically impaling him. Other human beings could give looks that, if it were possible, put people six feet under. A Holmes, naturally, had to be above such things and this Holmes in particular had a look that told people she wished there was a spike nearby on which to impale said person or persons. “Bite me,” Rose ground out.

“Now, now, now,” Sherlock began. “That’s hardly the way to talk to someone when you’ve already got a sore behind, is it?” He approached her with a look of determination on his face, as though he intended to add a smack to the said behind.

Uncertain whether or not Sherlock was just teasing her or had actual intent to swat her, Rose squeaked and jumped behind John. “No, no, no, I’m too sore,” she protested, her voice thick with tears that threatened to start falling.

“Sherlock! Be nice,” John scolded, giving his flatmate a scathingly reproachful look. “I’m sure she’s plenty sore and sorry, there’s no need to give her more or even tease her about more.” Turning his attention to Rose, he wrapped an arm around her waist and nudged her in the direction of the kitchen. “C’mere love, I’ll make you some coffee and eggs.”

“Bacon too please,” Rose responded. “And I’ll stand to eat, thank you. Also, I hate your slipper, so I might burn it later, fyi.”

“That bad love?” John asked, handing her a cup of coffee fixed just how she liked it. He shot his best friend a glare, his instinct to protect kicking into high gear.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and flopped rather dramatically into his chair.

“In all fairness to my brother, though why I’m defending him I haven’t the faintest idea, you scolded me earlier John. _And_ threatened to spank me as well, so really, you’re the last person to get all glary about it.”

“But I didn’t, did I?” John asked, turning away from the stovetop to look at her.

“Well, no, but still,” Rose admitted, a blush appearing on her face.

“In that case, I am well within my rights to glare at your brother. Particularly since I am the nice one in this flat, out of the two of us,” the doctor explained.

Sherlock, who had been ignoring them completely after John’s first scathing look, was suddenly focused on them once more, his head having shot in that direction with rather a look of alarm on it. The nice one? The _nice_ one? That sounded far too much like his own ‘I am the nice/good/fun brother’ argument he always lauded over Mycroft. “No, you’re _not_ ,” he finally ground out in a dangerously steely tone. “Now you’re simply annoying me John and you do enough of that on a regular basis. And do stop looking so pleased with yourself.”

John shot him a bemused look, having far too much fun having a go at his flatmate.

“Well,” Rose began. “You technically really aren’t the fun one in this house anymore. John spanks me less, so clearly, he’s more fun. Really though, I think we all need to work towards less spanking. We can even make a game out of it!”

Her older brother snorted. “Nice try, Rosenwyn, but no. Your little attempts to make me feel badly for you aren’t working because even if you think John is nicer or more fun, I’ll still always be nicer than Mycroft.”

Rose looked thoughtful for a moment. “Well, that’s sort of debatable, brother dear. He’s spanked me far fewer times than you since I decided to return so your position as the fun or nice brother is actually in jeopardy at this point. In fact, _you_ are now the mean brother.”

For several long seconds, Sherlock looked absolutely devastated at her pronouncement before he could school is features into his trademark look of indifference. “If I am, it’s entirely your fault, my dearest and darling sister,” he decided. “I will never admit to such a reversal in our family dynamics, particularly in light of the fact that I am not the brother who reclaimed you from the lap of your latest amour at a dance club.”

Her face instantly went scarlet in color. “Please do stop throwing that in my face,” she demanded. “No one even uses the word amour like that anymore Sherlock. Try to keep up with the 21st century, if you please. Besides, I don’t even know that guy’s name, so he was hardly an “amour.” I don’t even remember his name.”

“I’m pretty sure it was Billy-Bob. You seemed to really like saying his name after Mycroft brought you home,” John supplied, setting a plate of food in front of her. “Eat. Sherlock, you come eat too.”

“Oh my god,” Rose said, a hint of anxiety creeping into her tone. “Is that guy still alive? I wasn’t responsible for someone’s death… Right?” She looked to Sherlock for confirmation, her face full of horror at the possibility of what Mycroft could have done to the poor guy she’d been snogging. “My wouldn’t actually kill someone, would he Sherlock? Not _really_. He probably doesn’t have the authority to really make people disappear without threats to national security or something, right? Sherlock, tell me I’m right, please!”

The fact that Sherlock hesitated before answering his sister made John’s jaw drop. He looked back and forth between the siblings, searching for a hint that Rose was only teasingly asking such a thing, but no such hint was there to be found.

“I don’t know, sister dear,” Sherlock admitted. “You might want to contact Mycroft and make certain he hasn’t done away with whatever boy you were randomly exchanging bodily fluids with.”

“Oh. My. God,” Rose replied. “Do you even understand how disgusting that sounds Sherlock? Seriously?” She emphasized the disgust of it by making a gagging noise.

“Excellent!” Sherlock decided, grinning far too brightly for anyone’s liking. “Then you’ll want to do it les if you think about it in such terms. My job is complete now.”

“You know,” John interrupted. “I keep thinking the longer we’re all living together like this that I’ll come to understand you both more. But I need to stop thinking that because that’s obviously not true. If anything, I just get more and more confused.”

Rose giggled, her whole face lighting up as she did so. “Poor John. Don’t worry though, if you stick around long enough we can assimilate you! Make you an honorary Holmes. It’d be awesome, yeah?”

At just that moment, across London, Mycroft Holmes walked with determination though the halls of Parliament and suddenly shivered.

 


	37. Relationship Status: It's Complicated

Things were supposed to be back to normal. Things were not supposed to be complicated, or painful, or difficult to navigate. In short, Rose and John were supposed to be the way they’d always been, minus the new found desire to snog one another senseless; a desire that should have gone away by now. But of course it hadn’t because life was complicated. That, and in reality, it had only been four days since John had very emphatically invoked the ‘bro code.’

“Are you going to sit and eat, or stare at your coffee all morning?” John asked casually. When Rose looked up at him, he gave her a smile. “Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine,” Rose replied hurriedly. “I’ll eat, just because you’ll have a hissy over it if I don’t, but I’m not sitting.” For as much as her bum still ached this morning it almost would have been nice to have bruises to show for it. Almost; or even just some tread marks or something, a battle scar. Her bum had fought the good fight and lost, here is the proof! It really just wasn’t fair that the muscles ached from John’s stupid slipper, yet her bum looked perfectly fine, as if she hadn’t been in trouble at all the day before.

John dropped a kiss on top of her head as he moved past her to sit at the table with his own breakfast. “I’ll put some arnica cream on for you before you go, so you’re not miserable all day.”

“I said I’m fine John and I meant it,” she replied, sounding a bit exasperated.

“Yep, you’re quite fine. So fine you won’t sit in a chair and funnily enough that’s precisely what you do at NSY, sit in a chair all day long. Best let me doctor you up love,” John said, a hint of firmness creeping into his tone.

Lovely, John was in an ‘I-won’t-take-no-for-an-answer’ mood. “It’s really not your job to worry about the state of my backside unless you’re the one that injured it.”

The doctor was immediately alarmed. “Injured? You’re injured and you didn’t tell me?!” He supposed one could bruise from a spanking with a slipper, if it was used hard enough and long enough; maybe even blister a bit as well. John really couldn’t imagine Sherlock spanking her _that_ hard though! And it really hadn’t looked anywhere near that badly the day before!

Rose rolled her eyes and let out a dramatic sigh. “Of course not! I’m sore, but I’m certainly not injured. I was merely trying to make a point.”

“Which was?”

“My bum is my business, not yours.”

John’s eyebrows went up. “I’m a doctor Rose; _your_ doctor. Technically speaking, your whole body is my business when it hurts or requires treatment.” He paused, frowning as that statement brought some very unwanted mental images to mind.

“If you said that to anyone but me you’d probably get smacked across the face,” Rose stated, unable to keep from giggling. “’Your whole body is my business.’ Good thing Sherlock isn’t here or that might not have gone well for you.”

John chuckled, very thankful his flatmate had sprinted off an hour earlier to collect some tongues and a scalp from Molly. Who would have thought he’d ever in his life be thankful that someone he knew was gone picking up human tongues? Getting up from the table, John headed upstairs and returned a moment later with the jar of arnica cream.

“Didn’t we just have this conversation?” Rose asked incredulously. “While I very much appreciate your attempts to keep me in reasonably good health, I said I was fine and I meant it.” When John merely frowned at her, she sighed once more and held her hand out for the jar. “Fine, I’ll put some on.”

The doctor went still for several seconds as his mind processed her words. “You don’t want me to put it on?” John finally asked, sounding rather confused.

Admittedly, he hadn’t ever thought about the reason why he always doctored her bum after a spanking, outside of the fact that he _was_ a doctor, nor had he attempted to decipher Rose’s reasons for allowing him to do so. Perhaps it was very soothing to have someone fuss over her for a few minutes, or an inability to apply it effectively on her own- that could potentially involve some awkward angles, after all, or merely because it had become routine after that first time he’d spanked her. John knew perhaps better than anyone how comforting routines could be, particularly when one was already feeling a bit out of sorts. Whatever the reason was, the last thing John had expected was for their well established routine to be interrupted.

“Can I ask why? You let me yesterday,” John pointed out quietly. He tried hard to keep the disappointment out of his voice as he spoke. Yet he couldn’t quite put his finger on why he felt disappointed at Rose’s sudden reluctance to let him doctor her.

Rose frowned a bit and looked down at her plate, studiously avoiding looking anywhere near John. “Maybe I shouldn’t have, considering where we stand with things.”

“Where we…” John paused, trying to grasp her meaning. “The arnica cream… Look, I haven’t done that because I’ve been attracted to you. I did it the first time, and every time after that, because I cared. It doesn’t sit right with me to see people hurting and not do something even when I can only offer a little something like cream. I didn’t like seeing _you_ hurting, Rose, even when you’ve more than earned a spanking, because I care about you. This has never been about… about…” His mind suddenly blanked as he searched for the proper way to phrase what he was trying to say. God how he hated it when his grasp of the English language lapsed at the worst possible times.

“About getting a peek at my bum because you think it’s cute or something?” Rose asked. She tried to pass it off as an attempt at humor but it fell a little flat, as did the accompanying smile that was tinged with sadness.

John blushed bright red, his whole face and neck feeling hot. “No, it’s never been about that at all and still isn’t. Look, I thought we were going to be normal. Be the way we were before I kissed you and mucked all this up.” He wasn’t entirely sure when he’d fallen in love with Rose but John wished more than anything in that moment that he could go back in time and decide _not_ to kiss her that night because nothing had been right in his world since then and he could only imagine that Rose felt the same.

Rose’s face took on a pained expression as she struggled to keep from losing her temper, her jaw visibly clenching briefly before she responded. “If we’re not “normal,” and I admit I’m floundering a bit to readjust to this new version of what is normal with you, don’t you dare look at me as if it’s my fault. As if I’m suddenly being strange or something. I’m trying very, very hard to think everything through so I don’t pass on a false message or do something with some sort of underlying meaning so that you don’t get all disgruntled with me because I’m trying to make you break your stupid bro code or something.”

She paused to take a deep breath, the tremulous hold on her temper slowly slipping away. “I’m trying to be respectful of what you want. Do you have _any_ idea how freaking complicated this is? If we’re weird, it’s _your_ fault, John Watson, not mine.”

“Do you think I’ve not been trying to be normal? Do you have any idea what it’s like to live in fear of the British Government coming to…to… castrate me or something for touching his sister? That’s really intense Rose, and honestly I’m trying to treat you the same way as I always have because you’re important to me. Couple or no couple, you _are_ important to me,” John told her earnestly, wishing he could erase the lines of worry creasing her forehead.

“You’re important to me too,” Rose whispered. “You always have been and you always will be. But it’s only been a few days and it’s going to take me some time to stop feeling awkward about this; stop worrying that I’m implying something I don’t mean to every time I do something. Be patient with me John. _Please_.”

Without waiting for his response, Rose grabbed her things and made a quick exit from the flat. It would get better, she knew it would, and they’d be just the same as they’d always been. Those kisses would fade into distant, dream-like memories and the sooner that happened, the better.

\-----------------------------------------

Of all the Holmes siblings, Rose was the one most likely to be wearing a smile and when she didn’t it was immediately noticeable by those who knew her well. One such person was Greg Lestrade, who could tell by the look on her face as she exited the lift that Rose was not having a good day, despite having likely only been up a few hours. In fact, she appeared to be fighting with someone on her mobile, which was also very unlike her.

“No, _no_ , Louise. Just no,” Rose said firmly. “You’re not setting me up with anyone; I don’t have time for this nonsense.”

“Well, you’ve still got two options then,” the voice on the other end of the line told her. “Since your rebound didn’t work there’s still…”

“You can’t possibly be serious,” Rose hissed into her mobile as face colored fiercely. “No, you really can’t be, because I’m about the last person in this world to have any idea how to seduce anyone. And no, _no_ , that was not an invitation for you to give me a tutorial.”

Greg watched from his office as Rose’s face grew dark and could practically hear her tone becoming terse, in spite of the fact that his office door was closed.

“Louise, sometimes you really, really frighten me. I’m not having revenge sex or seducing anyone, for heaven’s sakes. _Please_ , just let it go. It is what it is and I don’t have the energy to attempt to make it different,” Rose replied as she dumped her purse at her desk.

“Alright, alright, just think it over,” Louise said. “I’m just trying to help. And by the way, your brother is on my black list. He called Mum.”

Rose had been about to ask her best friend which brother she meant, but only one of her brothers would dare to call someone’s mother on them. “Well, I’m sorry. I’ll handle it. Yeah, don’t even talk to me about how she lectured you for hours and hours, I would have happily traded for that, trust me,” she said, entering Greg’s office. “I gotta go.”

Wordlessly Rose handed Greg his coffee and shoved a bag in his general direction before flopping into one of the office chairs. Immediately she winced and had to fight the urge to jump back out of the chair and try seating herself more gently. Rose finally settled for shifting her position a bit before typing a text on her mobile. ~~~~

‘Tattling on Louise? That was a dick move My, even for you.’ Before stopping to consider her word choice, she hit send and put her mobile down on Greg’s desk.

“Bribe?” Greg asked, holding up the pastry bag. “Bad day, kid?” Greg hoped Rose wouldn’t explode at him for daring to ask what was wrong. His ex-wife had been the sort of woman who didn’t want anyone to even acknowledge her presence let alone address her when she was in a mood and Greg hoped that Rose was different and would not bite his head off for showing some friendly concern. He watched her slump down in her chair and nod.

“Yes, that is a bribe and since you know me so well, I know that I don’t have to tell you why I am bribing you and what I want with said bribe. If I had a hat, I’d pull it over my eyes and wish that someone would put me out of my misery,” she admitted.

So, not like his ex then. “Want to talk about it?” Greg offered. Just as he asked, her mobile began ringing and Rose suddenly went deathly pale.

“Oh god,” Rose groaned. “Think first, Rose, think first,” she muttered, staring at the mobile with a grimace.

Greg felt confused, but that was rather the norm when one spent time with a Holmes. “Are you going to get that?” He looked at the ID display and saw Mycroft’s name on it.

Rose shook her head emphatically and waited for her mobile to stop ringing, letting out a sigh when it did. Unfortunately, it began ringing again thirty seconds later.

“Want me to get it?” Greg offered, not missing the pained look on his young assistant’s face.

“Not unless you want to deal with an angry Mycroft. God, I’m such a moron sometimes,” Rose admitted, just the hint of a whine in her tone. “Can I duck out?” she asked, reaching for her mobile. When Greg waved her out of his office, she stepped out and shut his door behind her before answering the still ringing mobile.

“Since when do you speak to me in such a disrespectful manner?” Mycroft asked, skipping any pleasantries. “And before you get smart and say that you were texting and not speaking, I consider that to be two sides of the same coin. Cursing at me in any format, verbal or written, is unacceptable.”

Rose’s face flushed. “I’m having a bad day and my brain temporarily went offline. I’m sorry I said that, it was inappropriate. Though I am rather put out with you on Louise’s behalf,” she added. It wouldn’t do if Mycroft thought she wasn’t actually disgruntled with him.

“Be that as it may, being upset with me does not give you license to curse at me,” Mycroft stated in a tone that was heavy with disappointment. “You’ve never been allowed to speak that way to me, nor will you ever be. It indicates a very serious lack of respect for the person you are speaking with when you use such vulgar terms. I would like to think you’d have at least a grudging respect for me.”

The fact that he wasn’t angry with her surprised Rose and actually made her feel worse. “I’m sorry, truly. I wasn’t thinking and I didn’t mean to make you feel as if I don’t respect you. It’s just… been a day. Forgive me?”

“You’ve only been up two and a half hours, that’s hardly a day,” Mycroft commented. “But yes, of course I forgive you. Just note going forward that the next time you curse at me, verbally or in written form, I’ll wash your mouth out with soap.”

Rose cringed as a particularly distasteful memory suddenly surfaced in her mind. “Got it; won’t happen again. By the way, I don’t know how _you_ know I’ve only been up two and a half hours but please stop being all creepy.”

“How about I’ll stop being ‘creepy’ as you call it, as soon as you start behaving? I believe that’s an excellent deal for us both,” Mycroft replied, his tone filled with amusement.

“Ha, ha, Mycroft, ha, ha. I need to go. I think Greg would like me to actually start working sometime today.” The two siblings said their goodbyes and Rose finally turned her attention back to her boss, entering Greg’s office once more, sitting down more gently this time than she had moments ago.

Greg opened the pastry bag and removed a large, fresh blueberry scone with a grin. “These are my favorite! How’d you know?” he asked.

“You ate every blueberry muffin I made over Christmas and it’s really not that much of a stretch from muffins to scones,” Rose pointed out, smiling for the first time since she entered the department.

The DI broke the scone in half and pushed one of the halves in her direction. “Want to talk about it?” he asked before biting into his scone.

Rose let out a big breath and slumped down in her seat once more. “Where do I start? My life has turned into a soap opera, my best friend is trying to get me to seduce someone, men are stupid and so are their codes of honor nonsense, my brother just threatened to wash my mouth out if I ever use the word ‘dick’ in reference to him ever again and there is absolutely no sane person in my life to ask advice from and why, _why_ on God’s green earth is my New Year starting out so awful?”

She slumped down in her chair again and sighed. “Pretend there’s a hat on my head and that’s what I’m pulling over my eyes,” Rose murmured, gesturing as though she was doing just that. “Or, alternatively, a blanket and I’ll wake up in an alternate universe. Somebody told me your twenties were your glory days and they were such a liar. If I remembered who that person was, I would go hit them.”

Greg stared at Rose for a moment, his mouth gaping as he processed all the information that came tumbling out of her mouth. “Okay then. I never thought I’d say this, but I’m really glad I’m not twenty anymore,” he admitted, grinning when he got a little smile out of his dejected assistant.

“Gee, that just solves all my questions right there. Tell me again why I haven’t come to you for advice before?” Rose teased.

“I think your life feels like crap telly because you’re a Holmes, but unlike your brothers you’re the normal one. When things throw you off course, it seems quite major because you like the formality of things, the familiar. Fix whatever is out of sorts and you’ll move on from the crap telly stuff,” Greg advised. “What was next? Oh, right, your best friend. Yeah, don’t do that. Don’t _ever_ do that. And if you do… seduce someone, please don’t ever tell me about it. I’d like a promise on that.”

“Alright, I promise,” Rose told him with a laugh. “And just so you know, I told her absolutely not. Now let’s not talk about that again, agreed?”

“Definitely,” Greg agreed. “On to men. Men _are_ stupid a lot of the time, I can’t explain why that is, we just are. Usually not intentionally either. If you’re looking for one that isn’t stupid, good luck with that, we all have our moments. Codes of honor, however, are actually rather important. Don’t date someone without one.”

“Seriously? Why?” Rose braced herself for some kind of ridiculous justification of the bro code or some other version of stupid male codes.

“Because what a man holds as important enough to have a code for it tells you whether or not that man is a good man. It sounds old-fashioned, but it’s really true. The world is full of codes and it isn’t just men that have them. But if you’re with a man who doesn’t have a code that defines him, what he believes in and stands up for and views as morally right, find someone else. Better yet, find someone who will defend your honor in addition to all the rest,” Greg told her sincerely. He waited for an explosion of feminist indignation from Rose, but it never came.

“That actually makes a lot of sense,” she finally replied. “That’s also a much better answer than I’d get from either of my brothers. I hadn’t thought about it like that before.” Suddenly she had felt as if she could understand John’s position a little better. Not the age thing, that one Rose would never agree with, but loyalty and friendship and other characteristics of John’s that created his own John-specific code.

“For what it’s worth, I consider myself to be reasonably sane and also rather reasonable. If you need an ear or some advice…” Greg’s voice trailed off and he shrugged his shoulders.

“Just not seduction, sex or womanly problems, right?” Rose asked with a grin.

“Exactly!”

“So you don’t want to hear about my miserable cramps? And if I run out of, shall we say, “feminine items,” you’re not the person to call and beg to go buy me more?” She burst out laughing at the look of horror that crossed Greg’s face. “I’m teasing! I’m teasing Greg, seriously. I would never ever do that to you.”

Greg scowled darkly at her. “Sometimes I wonder why I even like any of you Holmes lot.”

“That’s a special Holmes power. People are drawn to us and have no idea why, and yet they can’t quit us when we annoy them,” Rose quipped. She gave him a cheeky grin, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “If it makes you feel better, you’re my favorite boss and I have no idea why.”

Greg snorted and gave her an incredulous look. “I buy you coffee every afternoon, that’s why. On with the filing now, if you don’t mind. You’ll be on your feet all day; that won’t be a problem will it?”

“And that’s why you got a scone,” Rose told him. “Also why you’re my favorite boss.” Happy to be up off her sore bum, she got right to work, feeling a bit better about life.

\-------------------------------------------

John Watson was just as confused about life as Rose, though with a different set of problems. He’d made it clear, he was too old for Rose and he wouldn’t violate Sherlock’s trust by dating his little sister. Yet ever since he’d said that he’d been bloody miserable. The fallout over breakfast three days prior hadn’t helped him figure out anything else either, other than the fact that Rose was just as conflicted as he was. This was madness and they just couldn’t keep going on like this. The solution was staring him right in the face.

The solution was also boring as hell. Boring, boring, she was _so_ boring! Perhaps what was more alarming than the fact that this beautiful woman sitting across the table from him was so very boring was the fact that he heard Sherlock’s voice reverberating in his head each time he mentally said the word. Beth shouldn’t be boring. Beth Kelly was beautiful and getting tipsy, which was fine with John who was happily buzzed himself. However, what should have evolved into a ‘your-place-or-mine’ scenario was slowly turning into a disaster.

Rather than take his mind away from Rose, the woman Mike Stamford had set him up with made him think about little else. Beth’s hair was straight, not a curl in sight, let alone cute little errant ringlets determined to escape. In fact, not even one of Beth’s strands of hair was out of place.

Beth also didn’t have freckles. Not even one little freckle. John wasn’t sure he even knew how much he liked freckles until three seconds ago when he realized Beth didn’t have any. Didn’t Mike know how important freckles were? Well, in Beth’s defense, maybe she had some under all the make-up she had on. Rose hardly ever wore make-up, now that John thought about it. Maybe that’s why he always noticed her freckles and was now wishing for his date to have freckles as well? Well, she’d worn make-up here and there, but it was always feather light, which was perfect because Rose didn’t need it. Rose didn’t need anything at all, she was perfect just the way she was.

Rose was also just the right size. Beth, had she been wearing heels, would’ve been taller than he was. Even when Rose wore heels, they were perfectly matched. Because Rose was perfect just the way she was.

Rose… was perfect. In every way. Wait; was that really his thought, or something from a movie? John frowned a bit as he tried to place it. Ah, now he remembered! ‘Mary Poppins: Practically perfect in every way.’ Though Rose was basically perfect in every way that mattered; admittedly, however, one could always hope she’d get herself into a few less scrapes and take better care of herself but in all the ways that really mattered, she was perfect.

And he, John Watson, was getting desperate to get the perfection that was one Rosenwyn Holmes out of his mind before the British Government that was her big brother came to kill him.

\-------------------------------------------

The first full week of January slipped away. Sherlock and John were busy with on two new cases, one for Lestrade and one private case, both of which kept them out in the greater part of London more often than not, though they generally managed to wander home about the time Rose returned from dance practice. While Sherlock was excited for the cases to get rid of his boredom, John was happy for two reasons. One, Sherlock-on-a-case was not destructive, which was always a plus; two, the cases kept him from thinking about women. Any women at all, including Rose, as he fell into bed exhausted at the end of every day between half-shifts at surgery and the rigors of crime solving.

Knowing there was little to nothing for her to do to change John’s mind about them, Rose threw herself into both jobs and particularly her dance practices with Alfred. She had better things to do than be some sort of lovelorn romantic novel heroine who, despite all the odds, would somehow end up with the man she wanted and live happily ever after. Life didn’t come with happily ever after. Happy moments, yes. Ever afters? Definitely not. But that was just fine as far as the youngest Holmes was concerned. Her life did not revolve around men, be it John or her brothers, and dance was her passion.

With the newest competition right around the corner she and Alfred still had plenty of work to do and Rose could be an exacting taskmaster. Sherlock had been in a second time to coach Alfred through the lifts and those were vastly improved, which made their practices much easier. Four of the five competition dances contained multiple lifts in the choreography and Rose didn’t want second place again.

“You’re a hard taskmaster Rose,” Alfred complained one night. “We’ve been here…” He paused to consult his watch. “Seven hours without a substantial break. I think it’s time to call it a night, yeah?”

Rose shook her head. “I want a clean run through with the jive without either of us missing choreography, falling or dropping.” Alfred wasn’t the only one to blame for their issues with some of the lifts in the jive. Even Rose struggled with it, tripping herself almost as much as Alfred dropped her but considering how they’d started, Rose knew the pair had come really far and, if they could just perfect it, had a serious chance of taking top prize.

Their last run of the night turned out to be perfect with no one getting hurt or messing up anything. More than happy to call it a night, Rose parted ways with Alfred and headed for the girls locker room, intending to take a shower. It was a good thing very few people were there this late at night Rose thought as she stripped down, otherwise they’d think she was being beaten within an inch of her life. Bruises of varying shades and stages of healing dotted her hips that always took the hardest hits, while her bum and back sported a few as well. Dancing was not a profession for the weak or those with a low pain threshold. Blood, sweat, bruises and tears were often the invisible uniform of every dancer and Rose was no different, despite how talented she was.

After emerging from a refreshing shower and dressing in her street clothes once more, Rose headed out to the car Mycroft had sent to collect her. Baker Street was a short ride away and her body was screaming for a good night’s sleep. Usually she would pop into Sherlock and John’s flat and visit for a half hour or so, catching up on the latest case and talking about her day over a cup of tea before she’d head off to bed. Tonight, however, Rose was too exhausted to have a chat or tea and she had every intention of telling Sherlock she was home and going straight to bed.

Opening the unlocked door of 221B, Rose stepped into the flat and kicked off her favorite pair of sneakers and hung up her coat on the hook that had effectively become hers and dropped her purse beside the sneakers. The flat was oddly quiet and as Rose turned to look at the sitting room in full, the reason for that became very clear.

There on the couch were John and Sarah, from surgery, their limbs intertwined, essentially attempting to inhale one another’s faces. A half-empty bottle of wine and boxes of takeaway sat on the floor beside the couch and Sherlock was nowhere in sight. Rose stood there, mouth hanging open, completely frozen in place, wondering what kind of fresh hell this was that she’d stepped into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t give up hope on John and Rose; when a Holmes is involved, nothing is ever simple and these two are standing on the precipice of dangerous waters. But don’t give up on them (or the story!)


	38. Not My Fairytale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admittedly have no knowledge of diplomatic functions or what any of the royals are like personally, just having a bit of fun.

John and Sarah Sawyer had always had a connection, right from the day he applied to work at the surgery. That connection had only increased as they flirted with one another and then had the most disastrous first date in the history of the world involving kidnapping by a Chinese gang with a near death experience. Things like that tended to create a lasting bond between people and though he and Sarah had dated and eventually parted ways, they’d remained good friends and coworkers and there was still an inkling of chemistry between them. When Sarah had asked that morning if John would like to see a movie with her, the ex-soldier saw no valid reason to refuse.

Things had gone well at the theater, though neither of them really had any clue what happened for most of the movie as it had been spent making out in the back row like randy teenagers, John’s frustrations over the situation with Rose fueling his libido. Somehow they’d ended up back at Baker Street, ordered takeaway and opened a bottle of wine, proceeding to pick up where they’d left off at the movie. John had every intention of moving upstairs to his room with Sarah long before either Sherlock or Rose were due to come home. But, once blood was flowing to places other than his brain and things got rather hot and heavy, watching the clock or thinking about anything other than what was going on right there with Sarah was simply no longer possible.

John took very little notice of anything, in fact, until Sarah suddenly jerked and gasped, pulling away from him a bit. He turned his head, looking over his shoulder at what had startled Sarah and saw Rose standing there just inside the door. Bloody hell. Bloody _fucking_ hell. Jumping off Sarah as though he’d been burnt, the two tried to put their disheveled clothing to rights, and John wracked his brain to figure out what the hell to even say.

Luckily for him, Rose didn’t stick around long enough to give him a chance to say anything. As John and Sarah put themselves back together, Rose grabbed her bag, coat and shoes and went into her own flat, slamming the door hard behind her and firmly locking it. She knew John wouldn’t just let himself in, even if he did have a key; unlike Sherlock, John actually understood and respected privacy. Rose wanted to cry, her heart ached enough to cry, and yet the tears weren’t there and that more than anything confused the hell out of her. Space, she needed space, and she knew exactly where to find it. Rose pulled her mobile out of her pocket and sent off a quick text message.

‘Mycroft, I want to come home for a bit. Please send your car back for me. Please?’

‘Everything alright? M’

‘It’s complicated and I just want to come home.’

‘ETA 10 minutes. M’

That gave her ten minutes to pack whatever she might need for a few days stay at home. Rose ran through her flat, grabbing essentials like deodorant, panties and socks, and her toothbrush, shoving them into an overnight bag. The bear from her nightstand went into the bag, as well as her ipod.

As she opened her closet to select some outfits and pairs of shoes, Rose could hear loud knocking on her door.

“Rose!” John called. “Rose, open the door please! Let’s talk about this! Sarah went home, let’s talk!”

“I have nothing to say to you John Watson!” Rose shouted back. She grabbed two skirts, several tops, a pair of dress pants and jeans, shoving them into her bag, followed by her favorite dress shoes and a pair of flats, last but not least two sets of pajamas.

In a fit of pique she started grabbing all of John’s jumpers that she could find in her flat and momentarily debated on whether to throw them out the window or put them in her bathtub and set them on fire. Deciding he wasn’t worth the effort to do either of those things, she grabbed her purse and her bags, slinging them all over her shoulders, and picked up the pile of jumpers.

“Rose please! I didn’t mean for you to see that! I just… Rose, please, come out and talk to me or let me in! _Please_!” John’s tone was more urgent now, as was his knocking. Finally the door opened, but all John could see was a large bundle of what appeared to be his jumpers, which were unceremoniously shoved into his arms.

“I don’t have anything to say to you John Watson,” Rose said firmly. “There’s not even anything to speak about. Tell Sherlock I went to Mycroft’s and I don’t care what you give him for a reason.”

John’s jaw dropped. “Isn’t that a little drastic? Rose, please, just come into the flat, I’ll make tea and we’ll talk.” His heart was racing, knowing he couldn’t let her leave without explaining, but he wasn’t even sure he _could_ explain it. If he let her leave, that would be the end of it, of _everything._ Baker Street would never be the same.

“No, I’m very, very tired of talking with you. Go find Sarah and get back to your heavy petting that I unfortunately interrupted,” Rose instructed in a firm tone. “If you don’t want to be with me that’s fine, but have the decency to keep sexual activities in your bedroom, rather than the communal living space, alright? That’s just common courtesy and really, Sherlock doesn’t want to see it either!” Her voice rose in volume the longer she spoke, and Rose struggled to control her anger. “And you just be happy I didn’t set your jumpers on fire! I really, really wanted to but you are _so_ not worth the effort. Now I want to go home, so get the hell out of my way.”

“But _this_ is your home. Please, Rose, I can explain, I didn’t mean…”

“ENOUGH!” Rose screamed, her face going red. “That is bloody well enough out of you for a lifetime and I don’t know if I even _want_ this to be home anymore. Now get out of my way or so help me god I will shove you down the stairs!”

Uncertain if she’d actually follow through on such a threat, and not willing to gamble his neck on it, John stepped aside and watched her descend the stairs and disappear out the door, wondering if she’d ever come back through it again.

\------------------------------------------------------

Mycroft was waiting at the front door when Rose arrived, much to her chagrin. She was not at all in the mood to talk and he would undoubtedly have a multitude of questions for her that he would not want to answer. He opened the door as he saw her approaching and opened his mouth, but she quickly cut him off. “No.”

He opened his mouth to try again and-

“No, Mycroft.”

Once more, with a sigh-

“Mycroft Holmes, I said no and I meant no and making me angry isn’t going to make me say yes,” Rose grounded out.

The eldest Holmes chuckled despite himself. The sound of it threw Rose off for a second, giving him the much needed opportunity to actually say a few words. “You sounded just like Mother,” Mycroft told her. He expected the comment to make her smile, as Rose often liked to talk about Mother, and was alarmed when instead she looked very sad. Taking the bags out of her hands, Mycroft set them on the floor before wrapping both arms around her, hugging her tightly. “Who do I need to make disappear poppet?” he murmured, feeling very concerned.

Rose sighed softly, soaking in the comfort of her brother’s warm, caring tone. “I miss Mum; I wish she was here,” she whispered.

Inwardly, Mycroft groaned. If she wished for Mother it had to have something to do with womanly problems or relationship problems, though he was certain he’d be aware of it if Rose was in a relationship with anyone. Still, problems on either of those fronts were not his forte. “I would do anything in the world for you,” he said sincerely. “But that is the one thing I cannot give you.”

“I know,” Rose admitted. “But I still wish she was here all the same.” After letting out another sigh, she looked up at Mycroft and gave him a small smile. “So you could give me a duchy if I wanted one?”

Mycroft chuckled and shook his head. “Alright, I can’t guarantee I could get you one of those either. I could get you knighted, but you’d have to do something in service to the Crown before I could whisper in Her Majesty’s ear about it.” He kissed her forehead before holding her at arm’s length. “You look exhausted; exhausted and overwrought. To bed with you I think. I’ll carry your things up.”

Rose gave Mycroft a tremulous smile and headed up the stairs to her old bedroom. The familiarity of it as she walked in the door was comforting a way she hadn’t thought possible. It was homey, safe, and filled with good memories of cuddles, bedtime stories and sleepovers.

“Get ready for bed; I’ll be up in a few minutes to check on you. I want to make certain you don’t pass out on the floor, that’s how awful you look,” Mycroft admitted. He disappeared from the room, deciding to make some tea while Rose changed. When it was ready, he knocked on the door and brought a tray into the room with him.

“You and your polka dots,” Mycroft muttered, taking in her pink pajamas with brown polka dots. “I blame Mother entirely for that. I told her your nursery needed color and patterns for stimulating your brain and she goes to the shops, returning home with horrific looking lady bugs on everything and dots everywhere.”

“They weren’t horrific,” Rose replied with a tired giggle. “They just weren’t anatomically correct is all. And I like my dots, all my dots.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes and handed her a cup of tea. “Chamomile, drink it up and then bedtime. I’ll unpack your things,” he offered. “Unless there are unmentionables in there?” He gave the bags a dark look as if trying to discern through the fabric whether or not there were undergarments and other clothing items that would frighten him inside.

“I don’t have a bedtime,” she reminded him. “And obviously there are unmentionables in there! Do you think I walk around London without pants or something? I’m not Sherlock.” Rose sipped at her tea,

“Well thank god for that,” Mycroft murmured, sitting down beside her on the bed after grabbing his own cup of tea. “How long are you staying?”

Rose shrugged. “Few days, I suppose; until after the reception.” It was Thursday night and the reception was Saturday evening, which would give her a couple days to think about whether or not she wanted to return to Baker Street.

“You may stay as long as you wish,” Mycroft said quietly. “This will always be your home, no matter how old you are. Even if you’re 97. Though by that time I’m sure you’ll have inherited it from me and it will be yours in name but, in any case, the door is always open for you poppet. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah, fine,” she tried to reassure him, already half asleep. “Can I go to bed now?”

Mycroft chuckled and took the tea cup from her. “I think that would be for the best. I’ll put your bags at the end of the bed. What time do you need to be up in the morning?”

As soon as the tea cup was removed from her hands and the bags disappeared, Rose flopped over on the bed, closing her eyes. “Mobile alarm set,” she murmured.

“No, no, you sleep in the bed, not on top of it,” Mycroft gently scolded. He waited until she got up and then pulled back the duvet, inwardly delighted that he got to tuck her in. Had Rose been fully awake and more like herself, he doubted she would let him. When she was under the covers, he tucked them around her tightly and brushed stray curls away from her face before kissing her forehead. “Sleep well poppet.”

Her only response was a murmuring of something that didn’t quite make sense, causing Mycroft to smile fondly at her as he shut off the light and headed back downstairs. Once he was seated in his study again, Mycroft retrieved his mobile and sent a text to Sherlock.

‘Rose is here. Why? M’

‘Working. She still in one piece? SH’

‘Remarkably so and while I can see you are working, that is not an answer to my question. M’

‘What do you mean that you can see that I am? SH’

Mycroft smirked. ‘What do you think I mean little brother? M’

‘This is the morgue! You’re completely insufferable! SH’

‘Be that as it may, none of this answers the original question. M’

‘No, I don’t know why she isn’t at Baker Street. Have you tried asking her? SH’

‘She refuses to tell me, hence the need to ask you. M’

‘I have no answer for you; please do stop your incessant texting. SH’

‘Any ideas at all? She’s not quite herself. M’

‘On my way back to Baker Street. Will ask John and let you know. SH’

\----------------------------------------------

It was nearly 2am before Sherlock returned to Baker Street, riding the immediate natural high that accompanied solving a case, particularly one for Lestrade, proving all those idiots at NSY and their theories wrong. Upon his return, with little regard for the time, he immediately went upstairs to John’s room, intent on questioning his flatmate.

“Why did Rose go to Mycroft’s?” he asked after prodding the man awake.

John rolled over and began rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hands, trying to clear his vision. He looked over the alarm clock beside his bed and groaned. “Do you see what time it is?”

“I do and it is immaterial,” Sherlock replied, annoyed at John’s brain taking so long to flicker back to life after what was probably only a brief sleep. “Why did Rose leave?” He watched in fascination as John’s face began to color.

“She… well… uh,” John began, trying to find a way to say it that wouldn’t sound awful. When Sherlock started making noises of impatience, he finally just spit it out. “She walked in on Sarah and me, in the sitting room, rather uh… enjoying ourselves.” He inwardly cringed when Sherlock’s only response was a quirked eyebrow, knowing he would need to elaborate more than he was comfortable with. “I was trying to get off with Sarah and we hadn’t made it upstairs yet. But we were still fully clothed… er…mostly.”

“John!” Sherlock scolded. “Keep your activities to your bedroom; I would prefer my sister not be exposed to your sexual repertoire that earned you the moniker John “Three Continents” Watson! No wonder she left, I’m certain that was very upsetting for her. She’s an innocent!”

The doctor gaped at his friend for several long seconds. “Sherlock, she’s twenty! I’m sure she’s--” He abruptly stopped speaking as the detective gave him a positively frightening glare and John immediately began to backtrack. “Yeah, you’re right. I tried to apologize, but she left. I’m sure she’ll be back though, yeah?” He tried to sound optimistic, but Sherlock merely made a slight humming noise and suddenly exited the bedroom, heading for his own.

‘Rose walked in on John and Sarah as they were attempting to engage in intercourse. SH’

Across London, the oldest Holmes looked at his mobile and groaned. ‘That’s unfortunate. M’

‘Do you think I should speak with her about it? M’ Mycroft made a face as he envisioned the sort of conversation that would take place.

‘Only if you want to answer awkward questions. SH’

‘God no! M’

‘Then don’t bring it up and spare yourself the agony. SH’

\----------------------------------------------

Friday flew by in a whirlwind of paperwork and dancing that left Rose’s body thoroughly exhausted and her mind blissfully occupied by things other than John. Before she even knew it, Saturday had arrived and she woke up to the sun shining brightly in her window, at the lovely time of 10am. What a luxury to sleep in and not be at the studio right that moment! She lingered in bed a few more minutes before heading downstairs, still rubbing sleep from her eyes as she entered the kitchen and found her brother still at the small kitchen table with his tea and a newspaper.

“You couldn’t manage to get dressed before you came to the table?” Mycroft asked, looking up briefly from the newspaper.

Rose shook her head, pushing a pile of curls away from her eyes. “Coffee?” She sat down in a chair and put her head down on the table. “Coffee?”

“There’s none made at the moment--” Mycroft paused and frowned at his sister when she made a strange sort of whining noise at that statement. “But I suppose I can make you some if you stop making that noise.” He put down his newspaper and crossed the room to get the coffee maker started. The Keurig worked fast and soon he had a hot cup of coffee made just the way Rose liked it that he brought back to the table, along with a blueberry muffin.

“Anthea will be here at 1:30 with your gown and shoes. She’s also going to whisk you away for a bit,” Mycroft told her as he sat down.

It wasn’t until she had a few fortifying drinks of her warm caffeine liquid before she responded to her brother. “Where am I going?” Rose asked curiously.

“To do all the horribly tedious things women do in preparation for a special event,” Mycroft replied. “Anthea has you booked for a massage and a good all around pampering for this evening. Hair, make-up, whatever else women do.” Mycroft made a noise of dismissal that made Rose giggle. Her brother was as particular about his appearance as most women were; he just didn’t take as long as the average woman to look as he wished to.

“Ah, this is going to be like a fairytale, I think,” Rose decided with a bright smile. “You’re my favorite brother right now, just so you know. Only don’t tell Sherlock! I’ve always wanted to be a princess for a day.”

Mycroft chuckled and smiled a bit. “Well you won’t actually be one, even if you’re going to be treated this as though you are this afternoon, keep that in mind!”

\-----------------------------------------------------

While Rose was off with Anthea being thoroughly spoilt, Mycroft had an errand to run and hurried out of the house to make certain he returned before Rose did. Having sent Rose in his usual car with his usual driver, Mycroft used his own car to drive to a high end jeweler where he was greeted with great enthusiasm. People always greeted with him such exuberance when he was spending money.

“Best open the box and take a look before you complete your purchase,” a young woman instructed. “These are for a special lady, are they not?”

Mycroft opened the jewelry box and examined the contents, smiling with satisfaction. “Yes, they are for a very special young lady indeed.” After producing his bank card and signing the receipt, he tucked the box into his pocket and returned home.

\--------------------------------------------------

“I’ve never felt so relaxed in all my life,” Rose murmured to Anthea. “You’re fabulous.”

Anthea laughed softly. “Your brother told me you’ve been working very hard for your competition. I thought you might enjoy a bit of time to relax and let someone work magic on you with their hands.”

Rose nodded. “I very much did. This has actually been a lot of fun, even when you were on your blackberry. The world still intact?”

“For the moment,” Anthea quipped, giving the young woman a smile. It had not been a difficult job at all to take Rose for a massage and lunch before setting off to one of London’s best salons and let her have a mani/pedi, and get hair and make-up done for the event. If only all her work could be so easy! Then again, she’d be terribly bored if it was. There was something very exciting about the work she did for Mycroft Holmes. “Hopefully it will hold itself together long enough to finish getting you ready.”

With a smile, Rose opened the front door and led Anthea up to her bedroom where her dress, shoes and clutch were waiting for her. She quickly stripped off her day clothes and accepted Anthea’s assistance in getting into the dress without smudging her make-up.

“You look gorgeous,” Anthea compliment. “Come on, let’s show your brother and then it’s on your way to the palace!”

\-----------------------------------------------

Mycroft was waiting in the sitting room, slowly pacing back and forth, trying his best not to be impatient. They had plenty of time, but he was impatient to give her the gift he brought back from the jewelers. Then he could hear the sounds of her excited chattering floating down the stairs and he turned to watch her come down.

Rose was wearing a royal blue gown with a wrapped v-neck top that flowed into an a-line skirt that floated just slightly as she walked. On her feet were black silk-like heels; her make-up was light and natural, allowing her own beauty to shine through and be enhanced rather than covered, the colors of it perfectly suited for her dress and eyes. Her hair was partly up in a half-crown braid, the rest of her curls loose.

“Do I pass muster?” Rose asked, giving her brother a little twirl. Neither of the siblings noticed when Anthea slipped out the door.

“You look… So very grown up,” Mycroft murmured, stunned by just how mature and beautiful his baby sister looked.

She blushed with pleasure at his words. “I feel like a princess,” Rose admitted with a giggle, thoroughly ruining her grown-up aura.

Mycroft chuckled and shook his head. “Ah, that’s the little girl I know. But you’re not quite ready to go just yet.”

“I’m not?” Rose looked down at herself: shoes, check; dress properly on, check; clutch, check. “What’s missing?” She felt even more confused when her brother merely crooked his finger at her, beckoning her over to the fireplace. As she came to stand beside him, she saw a wrapped gift with her name on it.

“You’re just a bit underdressed, poppet,” Mycroft told her. “Open it and you’ll find what you’re missing.”

Tearing away the wrapping paper, Rose discovered a velvet jewelry box and ran her finger across it before gently opening it. There among the cushions in the box were the most exquisite earrings she had ever seen: teardrop sapphires nestled in a setting of diamonds that somehow reminded her of snowflakes. Beside the earrings was a necklace, with one teardrop sapphire to match. A soft gasped escaped before Rose could manage to respond verbally. “Oh my god,” she gasped. “Mycroft! Oh my god!” She whirled around to face him, completely shocked. “Are these real?”

“Are they _real?!”_ Mycroft exclaimed. “Of course they’re real! Good heavens Rose, what a way to ruin a gift!”

Rose had the good grace to blush. “Sorry. I just don’t know what to say. These are amazing. Are you sure I’m worth all this? They must have cost you a small fortune!” She could hardly believe that her brother had bought her such a lovely gift and she felt a warm glow of love flow through her, feeling in that moment so very, very special.

“You’ve always cost me fortunes of money, what’s one fortune more?” Mycroft asked, giving her a smile. “Besides, don’t all princesses need their jewels?”

He barely finished his question before his arms were full of Rose as she hugged him tightly and thanked him several times in quick succession. “You’re worth every fortune in the world Rosenwyn Holmes, and never let anyone tell you otherwise,” he whispered in her ear.

After holding her close for a moment, Mycroft held her at arm’s length. “Put your jewelry on princess,” he teased. If anyone ever asked if that word, _princess_ , had ever passed his lips, Mycroft would deny it to his dying day. But if Rose wanted to feel like a princess tonight, he would do nothing to discourage it. He couldn’t resist smiling as she ran off to the loo.

“Will you help me with the necklace? I can’t see the clasp back there,” Rose asked when she returned. When he nodded, she handed Mycroft the jewelry box and turned around, lifting her hair.

“I have a small confession to make about your jewelry,” Mycroft said as he fastened the necklace.

“They’re borrowed aren’t they?”

Mycroft chuckled. “No, not even close. They are yours to keep. The confession is that they aren’t entirely new. The sapphires belonged to Mother but they were in absolutely hideous settings from the late 70s. I had them put into these new settings.”

Rose turned around to face him again, breaking into a wide, open smile. “That just makes it all the better, you know. Are we ready?”

“We’re ready,” he confirmed. “The car is waiting for us.”

\--------------------------------------------

As they pulled up to the palace, Rose gaped as she looked out the window. Oh, she’d been to the palace before. More than once in fact! Although the first time she had not been paying any attention to anything other than making that awful PA get her to Mycroft. She’d also only been four and what four year old really appreciates the splendor of a palace as grand as Buckingham Palace was? But she had never visited an evening when dusk was beginning to settle and the palace was all lit up. It was really a sight to behold. Rose looked over at Mycroft, wondering if he was as enchanted by the sight as she was, only to find him seemingly disinterested.

“You’re weird,” Rose decided.

Mycroft rolled his eyes, a frown settled on his features. “How so, sister mine?”

“This is lovely and exciting and you look _bored_. “

“Because it _is_ boring. Tedious dinner, wretched small talk, horrific dance skills, bland polite smiles. Completely boring,” Mycroft explained, already sounding exasperated before they’d even exited the car.

“Oh, you poor put upon dear,” Rose mocked. “Having to get all dressed up fancy, have dinner in a palace and dance the night away. All the goldfish you must suffer through, for such a wonderful cause. You know, the country you try so hard to protect? Yeah, poor baby, I feel so sad for you.”

Mycroft scowled this time rather than frown. “Such impertinence. That’s why I brought you, by the way, to help me survive the goldfish.”

“Well, I’ll see what I can do about that. No promises, mind you,” Rose replied with a bright grin.

Several moments later, with her arm hooked through Mycroft’s, the pair entered the palace and made their way to the reception line. “Oh my gosh, is that Wills?” Rose whispered, standing on her tip toes to see up ahead.

“Don’t you dare call him that,” Mycroft hissed. “But yes, it appears to be him. The Prince of Wales was scheduled to attend but does not appear to be here. Likely the Duke is taking his place. Try not to embarrass either of us, will you?”

“I’ll try,” Rose said sincerely. She barely resisted bouncing on her toes in excitement. The palace was as amazing as one could imagine, there were so many people in a wide array of colors and clothing styles, and she couldn’t wait to see the main area for the event. Somehow, she managed to control herself, but only just!

As they approached the Queen and the Duke of Cambridge, Mycroft found himself hoping that Rose remembered how to curtsey properly and wouldn’t fall over. He soon realized he had no cause to worry on that score, as Rose executed a perfect curtsey in front of each of the royals.

“So lovely to see you my dear!” the Queen greeted Rose.

“And you as well, your Majesty,” Rose responded with a smile. “Thank you for whispering in Mycroft’s ear that I should be invited.”

The Queen laughed and gave her a smile before turning to greet Mycroft. Rose made her courtesy in front of the Duke of Cambridge and was greeted with a wide smile.

“Ah, Mycroft,” William said with a smile. “My father sends his best. He’s a bit under the weather this evening.”

“How unfortunate. Do give him my best in return,” Mycroft said sincerely.

“Now, Mycroft… Isn’t this one a bit young for you?” William asked with a wicked gleam in his eyes as he indicated Rose. “Tsk tsk, robbing cradles!”

Mycroft could feel his face going a bit red and wanted nothing more than to throttle the young royal, but of course did no such thing. “It is my pleasure to introduce you to my sister, Rosenwyn Holmes,” he finally said in an even tone, giving the younger man a tight smile.

It took everything Rose had in her to keep from laughing hysterically as her brother’s face began flushing red. “I think you’re my favorite person in the world right now, your highness,” she said with just a bit of a giggle.

William chuckled and gave her a grin. “Excellent! Will you save me a dance then? With your permission of course,” he added, looking to Mycroft.

The eldest Holmes nodded as Rose gushed out, “I’d be so honored! I look forward to it.”

“I’ll collect you for the supper dance then. Mycroft, you can escort Gran in to supper in my stead?” William chuckled.

“Certainly,” Mycroft quickly agreed. He hustled Rose along a bit to keep the greeting line moving, giving William and the Queen a parting nod before taking Rose into the reception room.

“What’s the itinerary?” Rose asked as she surveyed the grand room with wide eyes. What must it be like to grow up in such a place?

“Bit of a social hour until the greetings are finished and then the dancing will begin. Typically there are four dances, followed by supper and further dancing. It’s a goodwill function, for all the diplomats and others, such as myself, to mingle and make nice,” Mycroft explained. “Do play nicely with everyone, Rose, the Duke of Cambridge in particular.”

“I will, I promise. I won’t embarrass you,” Rose promised, giving him a smile.

“Then I suppose it’s time to mingle and show you off.”

\-------------------------------------------

Rose played her part to perfection. She smiled, laughed politely at bad jokes, shook hands, engaged in conversation on a wide variety of topics and even showed off her considerable language skill in order to converse with those less comfortable with English. Before the dancing had even begun, Rose was a brilliant success and was even eyed by several men. His little sister was nothing short of glamorous and Mycroft couldn’t be more proud even if he tried! Ever the older brother, however, Mycroft made certain to send very hard, meaningful _looks_ at several men who had been flirting and looking to get her attention. He knew without a doubt that _they_ knew he was silently warning them not to go near her. It wasn’t that he objected to Rose dating or receiving appropriate attention from members of the opposite sex, but over his dead body would she become involved with a diplomat or politician. She’d make a wonderful wife to someone with such a job, as Rose’s considerable skill had shown him, but Mycroft knew far too much about that murky world to want her anywhere even remotely near it.

“I see you’re winning hearts and minds as per usual,” Mycroft commented as he led her onto the dance floor for the opening waltz.

“How am I doing?” Rose asked eagerly. They easily fell into step with one another, the height difference helped a bit by the height of her heels.

Mycroft smiled down at her proudly. “You’re nothing short of amazing, sister mine. I’ll have to bring you more often. Can you even imagine the trial of it?”

“Oh, it would be positively monstrous,” Rose assured him. “The shopping and dancing and pampering, really Mycroft, are you trying to torture your poor innocent sister?”

The eldest Holmes just barely resisted snorting in response to her comment. “Which sister would that be? Surely not mine. She stopped being sweet and innocent right around nine months old.” Mycroft smiled as she laughed and shook her head.

After the first dance ended, Rose was immediately claimed by the Prime Minister for the next and by the French ambassador for the one after that. She was in the midst of having to turn down several eager diplomats of varying ages for the supper dance when the Duke of Cambridge was suddenly beside her.

“I do believe you promised me the supper dance, Miss Holmes,” William said, holding out his hand for her. He grinned when she placed her hand in it and let him lead her out onto the floor. “You’re having a grand time, aren’t you? I don’t think I’ve seen anyone enjoy one of these gatherings so much in ages,” he admitted.

“It’s the dancing,” Rose laughed. “Plus there’s always an element of fun dressing up and spending time in this beautiful palace.”

“Playing princess for the day then?” William asked, giving her a smile when she nodded. “You’re doing wonderfully. It is unfortunate Kate didn’t accompany me tonight; I think she’d like you. Then again, it’s sort of a family sport to find ways to make Mycroft uncomfortable if you haven’t picked up on that.”

“I have. I think that’s why her Majesty likes me. When I came visiting uninvited one time ages ago, I told her that Mycroft poked our brother Sherlock with his brolly when Sherlock was annoying him,” Rose admitted with a giggle.

“I’ve heard that story,” William admitted with laugh.

Long before she wanted it to be over, the dance ended and Rose was escorted in to the dinner on his arm, much to the astonishment of nearly everyone else in attendance. “You like causing trouble, don’t you?” Rose whispered.

“I do and I think you do too,” he teased in response. “Here is your seat, please allow me to make introductions. Miss Rose Holmes, this is Birk Carlsson, the diplomat from Sweden and here on your right is Barna Rezsx from Hungary.” William pulled out the chair and made sure Rose took her seat before proceeding to his own.

Rose and Rezsx immediately continued their conversation from earlier in the evening, attempting to draw Carlsson into their talk as well. Carlsson was very interested, but not particularly in the conversation, but rather Rose in particular. An unmarried man in his mid-thirties, he found the very elegant and effusive Rose alluring and tried to very discreetly alert her to the attraction.

First Carlsson began nudging her foot with his own and discovered that perhaps he was being too subtle. He continued on in the same vein, this time rubbing his leg against hers in an unmistakable manner.

The problem wasn’t that he was too subtle to get Rose’s attention; it was the fact that she did not want that type of attention. She politely ignored the foot nudging and silently moved over a bit in her seat, closer to the Hungarian diplomat to avoid the Swede’s leg rubbing as best she could.

Rose looked for Mycroft, who was seated across the table and several seats closer to the Queen, but he was absorbed in conversations of his own. Well, she was an adult, she could deal with it all on her own and decided to give Carlsson the ‘cut direct’, mentally utilizing her knowledge of regency era cant, and ignored him completely in favor of her far more polite and respectful dinner partner.

Carlsson wasn’t quite willing to take no for an answer and rather than receive the message Rose was trying to give him, he became bolder. He placed his hand on her thigh and slowly began moving that hand upwards.

More than a little annoyed, Rose skillfully jabbed the heel of her shoes into Carlsson’s foot. He gave a little yip that caused more than a few heads to turn in their direction and the Hungarian diplomat, Rezsx, to look slightly alarmed and inquire under his breath in Magyar if Rose was alright.

“Yes, I’m fine, thank you sir,” Rose responded, keeping a pleasant smile on her face. “Though I thank you for your concern.” She sipped at the champagne in her glass and proceeded to completely ignore Carlsson for the remainder of the meal while inwardly bemoaning the stupidity of the male sex.

\------------------------------------------------

With supper ended and two more dances under her belt, Rose put the unpleasant incident aside and continued to impress both her brother and everyone she came into contact with. She had far more dance partners than she even knew what to do with and practiced her own brand of diplomacy as she was forced to choose just one man per dance.

After a few more dances, however, Rose found herself in need of the loo and excused herself from the dance floor. She discreetly asked one of the staff for its location and made her way to the edge of the room towards the appropriate hallway. Just as she crossed from the room into the hallway, someone yanked her behind a large, thick curtain.

\---------------------------------------

Mycroft was dancing with the prime minister’s wife, listening to her talk about the children and their latest misadventure with the family dog, making him thankful they never added a dog to the chaos that was the Holmes residence when Sherlock and Rose were young. Such thoughts made him seek out his sister, his eyes scanning the ballroom for her, expecting to find her yet again partnering some dignitary in another spot on the floor. He felt a stab of alarm when he was unable to spot her dancing or near the refreshment area. He’d seen her just a moment ago, two at most!

Suddenly there was a scuffle at the edge of the room and Mycroft’s heart filled with dread. Not Rose, not now, not after she’d done so very well all evening and made him so very proud. He prayed that it wasn’t his Rose, but apparently no one was listening to his prayers.

\---------------------------------------

Taking full advantage of the small amount of privacy from the main area that the curtain offered, Carlsson shoved Rose up against the wall. He pressed his body against hers and began murmuring what were probably poetic expressions about her eyes or hair or some sort of idiotic drivel but Rose did not speak Swedish. All she knew was that this man was bodily holding her to the wall and clearly intended some sort of sexual encounter with her.

“Let me go, please, let me go. I’m not comfortable with this, let me go!” Rose said firmly, trying to push him away from her. Carlsson ignored her protests, whether or not he even understood the words, and the noise of the reception drowned out much of Rose’s protests, leaving her no choice but to defend herself. Already predisposed to hate anyone of the male sex after the debacle with John, having her personal space so rudely invaded and sexual advances clearly being made to her person by yet another member of the male sex, Rose used her pent up anger as ammunition. She managed to get her arm in the right position to pull back and her fist slammed into the man’s nose as Rose gave him one hell of a right hook.

Carlsson stumbled away from her, trying to stop the flow of blood from his nose. Suddenly all the noise in the area had stopped and every pair of eyes was turned in their direction just in time to see him stumbling away from Rose, bloodied, while she shook out her right hand.

\--------------------------------------

How Mycroft crossed the room at such a high rate of speed he had no idea but before anyone could do more than gasp and make other unhelpful noises, he was at Rose’s side, angrier than perhaps he’d ever been before. He took a firm hold on her arm and began pulling her away from the corner of the room towards the exit. “We’re leaving right now. Don’t say even a word; I don’t want to hear anything from you at all. Never have I been so humiliated in my entire life,” he hissed into her ear. Out of the corner of his eye he saw someone running towards them and turned to discover it was the Duke of Cambridge. Before the younger man could even say a word, Mycroft spoke first. “Give her majesty my sincerest apologies and assure her this will be dealt with in an appropriate manner. Excuse us.” He did not wait to see if William had anything to say in response.

“Mycroft, Mycroft, you have to understand, he was--” Rose began when they exited the palace, only to be quickly cut off her by her irate brother.

“You cannot help yourself, can you? You have absolutely no control over your own behavior, do you? You never stop to think, you just act on impulse. This isn’t a scuffle at school Rose,” Mycroft growled at her as they headed for the car. “In the space of thirty seconds you have single handedly managed to strain relations between Sweden and Britain. That has to be a record, Rosenwyn. Are you quite proud of yourself? The relationship between our countries survived two world wars, numerous terror threats and untold international pressure, but not one single evening with Rose Holmes.”

Rose opened her mouth to try and explain once more but couldn’t even get a word out.

“Say. Nothing. I have never been more disappointed in you than I am right in this moment and if you don’t want to everyone to hear me scolding you, I suggest you keep your mouth shut,” Mycroft said, his voice rising a bit now that they were further away from the palace. After a moment or so longer of hurried walking in silence, they located their car and Mycroft opened the door for her. “Get in the car and don’t say a word. Not a single solitary word.”

For once in her life, Rose obeyed without question and got in the car without saying a word. This was not her fairytale evening; it was a fairytale gone all wrong.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Readers! Mycroft has no details of what happened between Rose and the diplomat and only knows that she managed to assault said diplomat for seemingly no reason and potentially strained relations with Sweden. What do you think Mycroft’s reaction should be based on his (limited) knowledge of the situation? I want to hear your thoughts and ideas!


	39. Return to Sanity

The ride back to the Holmes residence was relatively short and predominantly silent, lasting just long enough for Mycroft to reign in his temper. Once he had that under control- and he was determined to keep it that way- Mycroft found himself almost uncertain how to best proceed with Rose. The more he thought about what he’d seen, the less any of it made sense. Rose didn’t fight randomly; every fight she was ever involved in had a motive of some sort behind it. Perhaps ridiculous motives, but motives nonetheless. And what exactly had she been doing over there? Why Carlsson of all people? He looked at Rose out of the corner of his eye, trying to discern the answers to those questions but came up empty. He did not, however, miss the bruises forming on her right hand, or the tears that she stubbornly refused to let fall. Something wasn’t quite right here and he was determined to find out what that something was.

“Go into my study,” Mycroft said once they entered the house. “I’ll be there momentarily.” The look on Rose’s face told him she expected the worst, but surprisingly enough she gave him a curt nod and did as she was told.

Inside the study, Rose curled up on the couch as best she could in her dress and kicked off her heels. Mycroft was much calmer now, and that was a huge relief for her. It meant they might be able to discuss this mess like adults rather than Mycroft deciding to spank first and ask questions later. She could only imagine the spanking she’d receive if he didn’t believe her, and grimaced at the mere thought of it. It wouldn’t be a spanking; it would be the cane if that was the route things took.

A bit lost in her contemplation, Rose didn’t immediately notice Mycroft enter the room with a tray until her brother put it down on the end table.

“Coffee, just for you,” Mycroft murmured, handing her one of the two cups on the tray.

Rose gaped at him in complete and utter confusion, holding onto the cup with her left hand. “Who are you and what have you done with my brother?” she blurted out.

“I am your brother, same as always. I have the feeling I’ll accomplish very little indeed if I start shouting at you,” he admitted.

“I’m not drunk!” Rose exclaimed rather defensively.

Mycroft frowned at her. “I know, I was watching. You only had one glass of champagne, which only adds to my overall confusion about what happened. But, first things first; hand.”

Still looking a bit confused, Rose nevertheless held out her right hand. She watched as Mycroft began examining it and then picked up some other items from the tray.

“This might hurt a bit, but it’ll help,” Mycroft warned as he wrapped an ice pack once in the towel. He then placed it on her hand and tied the edges of the towel together to keep the ice pack in place without having to be held.

Rose couldn’t help wincing, her hand protesting the weight of the ice pack with sharp, shooting pains. “That is really, really painful,” she admitted. “I don’t generally brawl, so my hand is rather upset with me presently for using it to bust someone’s face.”

“So you _have_ brawled on occasion, then?” Mycroft asked with a significant lifting of his brows.

She retaliated with a raised eyebrow of her own. “If and when the situation calls for it, yes, I have and will. Tonight definitely called for it,” Rose admitted before drinking her coffee.

“So what did happen tonight? One minute I was looking for you on the dance floor and couldn’t find you anywhere and the next there was a disturbance. I thought to myself ‘Dear god, please don’t let it be my Rose’ and then there you were,” Mycroft said with a sigh. “A curtain billowed away and Carlsson stumbled away from you with a significant amount of blood spatter and you were shaking your hand, grimacing.”

“That explains a lot,” Rose murmured. “That’s why you were so angry with me. I was really confused and then you wouldn’t let me explain.”

“Well, now is your chance to fill me in,” Mycroft encouraged, trying to keep an open mind.

Rose explained the whole incident from the beginning, starting with the issues at the table that culminated in her being waylaid on her way to the loo. “I’m not sure how much English he spoke or understood and I didn’t know any Swedish. I was stuck there and it was so gross and unwelcome.” She shuddered a bit as she recalled the invasion of her space and unwanted advances. “I didn’t have a choice My, nobody was around that I could see and the reception was noisy. I hit him and then you know the rest.”

By the time she finished, Mycroft’s expression had gone from a frown to a positively frightening look of thunderous anger like nothing Rose had ever seen before. Good lord he was going to murder her. “My, I’m really sorry! I didn’t have a choice, I swear. The last thing I wanted to do was embarrass you tonight, promise. _Please_ don’t spank me!”

“I’m not angry with you,” Mycroft hurried to assure her. “Definitely not with you, though we do need to discuss a few things,” he admitted. “But I’m not angry with you.”

It dawned on Rose what that look meant and her mouth formed a little ‘o.’ “You’re plotting murder right now, aren’t you? Right this second, with coffee in your hand, you’re plotting someone’s horribly excruciating death.”

“I need to make some calls,” Mycroft commented, refusing to confirm or deny her thoughts as he moved to sit behind his desk. “There’s more coffee in the kitchen should you want some.” He reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket for his mobile.

Rose was about to ask if that was a sort of dismissal from his office so he could carry out his nefarious deeds in private but was interrupted when Mycroft’s mobile began ringing.

Mycroft paused when it began ringing, amid a very specific text to Anthea, and recognized the number immediately. “Damn.” The glared at the mobile as if trying to will the caller to cease and desist.

“Who is it? What is it?” Rose asked curiously, getting up to look over his shoulder.

“Sit. Now.” Mycroft directed without even looking at her, one long finger pointing at the sofa.

With a sigh Rose did as she was told. “I think that person wants to talk to you very, very much. Like when you called me the other day, you wanted to talk to me very, very much,” she commented.

Mycroft smirked when the device stopped ringing and proceeded on with his text message, only to be interrupted once more by the same caller. With a low growl he deleted the text and answered the phone. “You’re Majesty,” he greeted with as much of a friendly tone as he could muster at that moment.

“Mycroft! Good heavens, you left so quickly! I do hope you haven’t lost your temper with your poor sister,” the Queen commented.

“No, I have not. I even made her coffee,” Mycroft replied as his face flushed.

“I’m very glad I got hold of you Mycroft. I wanted to assure you that the matter has been brought to my attention--”

“Give me five minutes and I’ll have the universe set to rights once again,” Mycroft interrupted.

“Mycroft, take a deep breath and don’t do anything silly,” the elderly woman admonished. “And do allow me to finish.”

Rose watched with interest as her brother went from looking ready to kill someone with his bare hands, to annoyance, to embarrassment, and was now almost looking… scolded? How she wished she could hear what the queen had to say!

“As I was saying, the dreadful matter has been brought to my attention and is being dealt with presently,” her Majesty continued. “I do not take such disgraceful acts lightly and have made myself quite plain to that horrible man’s superiors and everything is being handled.”

Mycroft’s jaw dropped. She was handling it? He wanted to handle it! He wanted to cause that man untold suffering before sending him in a suitcase back to Sweden! “Your Majesty, I really think--”

The queen merely continued on as if he’d never said a word. “Now Mycroft, if I hear of anything _untoward_ happening to Mr. Carlsson that is not of my making, I shall be most displeased.”

“Who says I would do it?” Mycroft questioned. “There could be accidental happenings that would not occur by my hand.” After all, that was what he had minions for!

“Ah, of course. Let me amend my statement,” the Queen decided. “If anything happens to Mr. Carlsson that is not of my making, and is caused by anyone even remotely connected to you and I find out about it, I will be very, very displeased.”

Mycroft’s jaw tightened in complete and utter displeasure at having his plans thwarted. There were undoubtedly racks still to be found somewhere in Europe and he had planned to find one and see if it still broke people as easily today as it had in the Middle Ages. Surely the Swedish diplomat could use a good stretching! Or he could always arrange for said diplomat to be dropped unceremoniously in the middle of Siberia…naked. The unfairness of it all! He also had at least 29 different ways of slowly killing the man who dared to touch his sister and he wasn’t going to get to try any of them!

“Fine.”

Rose gaped at her brother. That was quite the petulant ‘Fine.’ But Mycroft? Sulking? That surely could not be real! And not just any sulk, but a Sherlock-worthy sulk at that! “Why does this have to happen when I’m not holding a camera?” she muttered. Sherlock would never believe it when she told him, or if he did, he’d be very upset that he missed out on seeing sulky Mycroft.

“Excellent!” the queen replied, sounding more than a little delighted. “I would like to speak with your sister, if she’s up to it.”

“Certainly.” Mycroft crossed the room and handed Rose the phone.

“Your Majesty?” Rose began. “I’m so sorry for disturbing your lovely evening, I--”

“Oh my dear girl, don’t even think of apologizing!” The Queen insisted. “It is I who am calling to apologize to you. What a horribly dreadful thing to have happened, are you quite alright?”

Rose smiled, even though the elderly woman couldn’t see it. “My hand has had better days, but I am otherwise unharmed.”

“That’s very good news. William saw part of the struggle and was coming to intervene but you handled yourself quite well I hear! He told me you have quite a marvelous right hook; well done you! I’m not one for young girls wilting like flowers in the face of a crisis. But I am very sorry that you were forced to defend yourself in such a way under my roof. Things are being handled with that odious man and my security team is undergoing some changes; they’ve become a bit lax,” the woman said with a sigh.

“Well thank you very much your Majesty,” Rose said with a bit of chuckle. She quickly sobered however, before continuing. “And thank you for taking this so seriously, that means a great deal to me.”

“I hope you won’t be frightened to come to Buckingham in the future. You should accompany Mycroft to tea sometime and then we could have a good chat! Of course it goes without saying that you will always be welcome as Mycroft’s guest at any function he attends. I think that horrid man would have thought twice if he realized you were Mycroft Holmes’s sister,” the Queen told her. “But I should get back to my guests. Oh, before I forget, William sends his best.”

“Please give him my best in return and thank you, again, for being so kind.” Rose appreciated the Queen’s support more than she could really say.

“Of course my dear. Have a good evening. Goodbye!”

“Well, what all did she have to say?” Mycroft asked, holding out his hand for the mobile.

“That things have been taken care of and she hopes I’m not discouraged from coming back. Also, the Duke of Cambridge told her that I have a ‘marvelous’ right hook and she told me well done for defending myself. Isn’t that wonderful?” Rose gave her big brother a bright smile, feeling her spirits lifting once more.

“If the blood spatter was any indication, then you do indeed have a ‘marvelous’ right hook,” Mycroft admitted. “Did you expect her to scold you for ruining her reception?”A deep blush told him she had thought precisely that and undoubtedly his own immediate reaction had only underscored those concerns. With a sigh he sat on the sofa again and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I apologize for assuming the worst and not giving you a chance to explain before losing my temper,” Mycroft said sincerely.

Rose rewarded his efforts with a bright smile. “Thank you. It’s alright,” she decided, shrugging a bit. “Given my history I don’t completely blame you. I’ve done some very stupid and silly things.”

“No, I should have exhibited more faith in you,” Mycroft decided. “I do, however, have one very serious complaint about your behavior this evening.”

Drinking the last of the coffee in her cup, Rose frowned in thought as she tried to figure out what he might have to complain about.

“You did not ask for help, nor did you look for it. That is what I take issue with. Even the Hungarian diplomat was ready to offer assistance and you turned him down. You could have asked a server to bring me a message, written or verbal or come to me once the dancing had resumed. You did none of those things,” Mycroft explained in a lightly scolding tone.

“My, I’m twenty,” Rose pointed out, averting her gaze. He had a point, but she was loathe to admit that.

“Which is completely irrelevant in this case,” Mycroft responded. “There is no particular age at which you no longer ever require help or should stop seeking it when necessary. This was a situation in which you should have told someone, anyone, what was going on. There’s no shame in asking for help and it would not have made me think that you were any less grown up or independent Rose. I’m your big brother; please don’t usurp my duties by not asking for my help when it’s needed.”

Seeing her rather crestfallen look, Mycroft immediately put an arm around her and drew her close, taking her coffee cup out of her hand. “You’re not backpacking Europe anymore. You’re home, with your family, and as long as Sherlock and I are on this earth, we will do anything and everything to help you with any problem you may have. It’s alright to lean on us poppet, _especially_ when you’re twenty. No one deciphers the mysteries of adulthood upon reaching it. There’s still a learning curve and I’m here to help in any way I can, not the least of which is protecting you from lecherous, drunken Swedes.”

“I’m sorry,” Rose murmured, snuggling against his side. “Are you still angry with me?” The question she didn’t ask was whether or not he was going to spank her for not asking for help.

“There’s no need to apologize, just do better in the future. Remember that we’re all here for you the next time you find yourself in need of assistance. None of us will judge you for asking for it, ever. Though I don’t suppose there’s a chance you would allow me to lock you away in an ivory tower, is there?”

Rose giggled. “No, not a chance Mycroft.”

“Always worth a shot. As to your original question, no, I am no longer angry with you about any of it,” Mycroft assured her. “You had every right to defend yourself and now you are on notice that I’ll expect you to seek help when you need it, for any reason, in the future. If you do not, well…” His voice trailed off but he knew Rose would know precisely what he was implying.

Rose nodded her head in agreement. “I understand and I think that’s fair. Thank you for understanding _me_ tonight. You know, you’re the only person who makes sense in my life right now,” she commented thoughtfully.

Mycroft couldn’t help thinking that was a very telling statement indeed. “Thank you,” he murmured. “Is there something you’d like to talk about?”

“No, not really. I’m just glad I have you is all.” Rose gave a contented sigh, more than happy to have a good long cuddle from her eldest brother.

“It’s rather enjoyable, being the nice brother,” Mycroft decided, resting his head on top of hers. “I love you poppet,” he whispered in her ear. “Never forget that.”

“I won’t,” Rose vowed. “And I love you too.” For the first time in what felt like ages, her world felt sane and secure.

\---------------------------------------------

“Coffee?” Rose whined as she stumbled into the kitchen Monday morning.

“You’re like a broken record Rosenwyn,” Mycroft grumbled. “Every five minutes ‘Coffee? Please, coffee?’” He imitated her voice, earning a sleepy glare for his efforts. “I blame Sherlock. He started it. It’s a miracle all the blood in your body has not yet been replaced by coffee flowing through your veins in its stead.”

“Cake isn’t breakfast food,” Rose shot back after she was given a cup of her precious, precious coffee.

Mycroft frowned at her. “Its coffee cake and you’re the little one. You don’t get to scold me,” he reminded her.

“Coffee cake. Cake being in the title. Therefore it is cake, by its very own definition,” Rose told him. “Gimme some.”

The eldest Holmes rolled his eyes dramatically. “Oh yes, I can see I was oh so successful at my attempts to teach you manners as a child. You’re downright appalling in the morning.” Despite his grumbling Mycroft put a slice of the coffee cake on a plate and put it in front of her.

“Says the man who wants to deny me the petrol on which my body runs.” Rose gave him a brilliant smile and batted her eyelashes, attempting to look innocent.

“Just eat your breakfast before I decide I want to eat it myself,” Mycroft threatened.

“Mine,” Rose growled, almost hugging her plate. “It has coffee in its name, therefore it is mine. Brother I will tackle you and steal yours if you dare to touch mine.”

Mycroft immediately moved away from her, intent on eating his own coffee cake. “An envelope came for you this morning by courier. It’s on the table by the front door.”

Rose immediately got up to retrieve it, taking her coffee cake with her just in case! She returned a moment later with a very official looking envelope. Leaning against the kitchen island, she opened it and found a brief missive inside.

_Dear Ms. Rosenwyn Holmes,_

_Your presence is requested at the Swedish Embassy this afternoon at 4pm in order for us to formally apologize for the actions of Diplomatic Counsellor Carlsson this past Saturday._

It was signed by the Ambassador, with the address of the embassy provided below the signature. “Wow,” Rose murmured, passing it over to Mycroft. “Should I go?”

“Of course you should go! Don’t make my job any harder by offending the Swedish ambassador who I _almost_ like on occasion,” Mycroft said, giving her a stern look. “You shall go and I shall accompany you. If Detective-Inspector Lestrade has complaint with your early exit from work, he can direct it to me. He will then be informed it is a matter of the highest importance in which the good relations of two countries hangs in the balance, which most certainly overrules his need to have reports typed and filed.”

Rose responded by saluting him, which earned her a pinched arm in return. “Beastly child,” Mycroft chided. “The car is waiting for you, whenever you’re ready to depart.”

“I can take the tube, the station is quite close,” Rose countered.

Mycroft’s eyebrow quirked. “You will take the car and you will like it.”

“I will take the car and I will like it,” Rose mimicked in a high-pitched tone. “Fine, I’ll go in your car if it will make you happy, you awful bossy person you.”

“It will make me blissfully happy indeed,” Mycroft assured her. “I’m always happiest when I know you’re safe. Also when you’re very far away from me and I can’t hear your near-constant whining about coffee.”

“I don’t whine.”

“Oh, you do,” Mycroft assured her, looking particularly smug.

Rose stuck her tongue out at him. “Not.”

“Too.”

“NOT!—OW!” Rose yelped. She gave him a scowl while rubbing her bum with the hand not holding her coffee cup. “That is cheating Mycroft Holmes. You’re a dirty cheater. See if there’s any coffee cake left for you in the morning, you git.” Yet for all her complaining, she let him kiss her head as he left for the office.

\----------------------------------------------------

Just before noon a familiar coat swirled dramatically as its wearer entered the homicide division. Rose chuckled softly under her breath as she saw his theatrical entrance; in the right light, Sherlock and that coat could make him look like a bat or a vampire, swooping onto the scene.

Ignoring everyone around him, Sherlock made a bee-line for Rose’s desk. When Lestrade made a move to come greet him, Sherlock lifted an eyebrow at the man, giving him a bland look before turning his attention back to Rose. “Come home.”

Rose sighed heavily and looked up at her older brother. “This is my place of work Sherlock, I’m not entirely certain this is appropriate.”

“Lestrade does not appear to object presently,” Sherlock pointed out. “Come back to Baker Street. You’ve spent enough time pestering Mycroft.”

“And why would I do that? What is so important that I should come back to Baker Street?” Rose asked with a serious tone.

“We’re going to starve to death if you don’t.”

Rose snorted and shook her head. “Really? Is that the best you can do? You hardly even eat when I do cook for you and John. Besides, this is London, you can find takeaway all over the place. Your sustenance is hardly a reason for me to come home.”

Sherlock took it as a good sign that she still referred to Baker Street as ‘home.’ “I’m bored.”

“When are you not bored? My being around won’t make cases materialize for you, nor will I be a subject of experimentation of any sort. I bang myself up enough as it is dancing, I don’t need further assistance in being injured,” Rose pointed out. “Nor will I allow you to experiment on my things, or put icky things in the refrigerator. Speaking of which, there better not be anything in there at all ever and if there is at this precise moment, it better be gone and that thing scrubbed with bleach before I get back. Next irrelevant reason.”

The middle Holmes sighed heavily. “If you do not return home by midnight tonight, I will find you, spank you, and drag you home by your hair.” Sherlock issued his threat with an air that gave away the fact that he was uncomfortable and trying to find a way to tease her about it without noticeably joking.

Rose burst out laughing, knowing the real sentiment behind such a silly threat. “You’re such a liar! You would never do that. Sherlock, I know you too well. Now, there are certain things I want to hear before I’m going to come home. Has John deputized you to come and make nice in his stead?”

Sherlock shook his head, causing his raven colored curls, so like her own, to sway slightly with the movement. “No, he has not. John doesn’t know I’m here.” He cast a furtive look around them to ensure that they were not being scrutinized by any of the officers. When he was certain they weren’t being watched, he leaned closer to Rose and said softly, “Come home… I miss you.”

Knowing what it took for him to make such a public declaration of sentiment, even if the words were said so quietly that no one else could hear, Rose’s heart melted a bit. She stood up from her desk and hugged him tightly. “I miss you too,” she whispered. “Though god only knows why.”

“Because I’m the fun brother?” Sherlock asked hopefully, giving her a bit of a smile.

Rose grinned widely in return. “Something like that anyway.” Her smile then faded a bit, which only served to disconcert her brother. “I can’t come home yet Sherlock.”

“Why not?” he asked, holding her at arm’s length.

“Because John owes me an apology. A big one at that and he knows why and he knows what he needs to apologize for. Until I get that apology I am not coming home,” Rose said in a firm, even tone, leaving no doubt whatsoever that she was entirely serious. “You may pass that message on to him. Additionally, tell him that cupcakes would be a good starting point.”

“You’re really that upset?” Sherlock asked. “I mean--” Again he paused to look around briefly before continuing. “I know you’re inexperienced and that what you walked in on must have upset you but… Did it truly upset you that much? Or is there more than I am aware of?”

Rose blushed bright red as he whispered about lack of sexual experiences, her mind racing as she tried to come up with the appropriate response to soothe his big-brother-senses that were clearly tingling. “It’s complicated Sherlock. Please just pass my message on to John. I would like to come home, don’t get me wrong on that score, but John needs to do his part. You can’t apologize for him,” Rose said gently, rather surprised to feel tears gathering in her eyes. Quickly she averted her gaze, hoping Sherlock wouldn’t see how much emotion played into her refusal.

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed as he began scrutinizing his sister. All the signs were there that something was wrong: avoiding long periods of eye contact; rigid stance; contemplation before speaking; lack of details; subtle shifting of her weight from one foot to the other. Oh yes, those signs and many more screamed at him that there was far more going on than he was aware of and whatever it was, John Watson stood at the heart of it.

Rose bit her lip as he easily deduced her emotional status using cues that she was unable to hide. Hide from others, definitely. Hide from Sherlock? Unfortunately not. “There’s not a bigger picture here,” she tried to protest. “Really, there isn’t. Been a rough couple days is all. John very much upset me, but he can put it to rights, he just needs to apologize and I’ll come home. That’s all there is to it.”

“I don’t believe you,” Sherlock stated matter-of-factly. “But I can also tell that you won’t give me anything more than I’ve already gleaned from you. I won’t press the matter, but I do expect you to tell me if there is anything at all that I can do for you. Is there something I can do?”

“There is not at this point in time. I promise to let you know if there’s something you _can_ do though. Is that enough?” Rose was thrilled that her brother was giving her so much space, rather than demanding answers that would only lead to the complicated story that was her and John as of late.

Sherlock sighed heavily. “I suppose that will do for now. I will notify John of your demands.” With one last glance to make certain no one was paying close attention to them, he leaned over and kissed the top of her head. He then made a departure as equally dramatic as his entrance.

\-------------------------------------------------

At precisely 3:30 that afternoon, Mycroft Holmes swept into the homicide division of NSY, cutting quite the figure of authority in his three piece pinstripe suit with a smart red tie and paisley pocket square. He walked with the air of a man on a mission whose demands, no matter how small or improbable, would be fulfilled. The contrast of this well dressed man who looked as though he could make your very nightmares become reality with the youngest Holmes’s bright smiles, playful nature, and less than intimidating stature was one that always made DI Lestrade inwardly chuckle. It rather reminded him of Superman, in this case Mycroft, with Rose as the kryptonite. No one could rile up or unravel the British Government like Rose could.

Mycroft stopped beside the desk of his young sister, who looked him up and down before smiling. “Ah, into battle we go then,” Rose commented.

The eldest Holmes merely rolled his eyes at her commentary, though it was, in a sense, accurate. “Detective-Inspector,” he greeted Greg. “I trust Rose has explained the need for an early exit this afternoon.”

“Mycroft,” Greg replied. “She has. Makes me wonder whether or not you’re trying to turn her into a politician and steal away my very best worker.”

Rose snickered at the horrified look on Mycroft’s face. “My sister would undoubtedly cause me endless problems if she took up politics. I can easily envision her being far more trouble than North Korea and Russia combined.”

Lestrade laughed and shook his head. “She’d be far too much like you, you mean. Smile charmingly and lull people into a false sense of security, all the while making elaborate plans to bring them to their knees.” He winked at Rose and then picked up the folder they’d been examining. “Have fun kid, see you tomorrow.”

“Anthea purchased a dress and shoes for you,” Mycroft said. “But I think you might be just fine with what you have on. Stand up and let me look.” Embassies had dress codes, generally rather bland that always included a knee length requirement for dresses or skirts. Rose had her own eclectic style, largely retro infused with patterns and bold colors liberally strewn throughout.

“I checked on the dress code before I dressed this morning and think I’ll be alright,” Rose commented as she stood up. She’d chosen a simple shamrock green dress with a rounded neckline and a belt that was tied in a double knot on the left, rather than the center. It was paired with white 1920s inspired Mary Jane pumps with a low heel, giving her an overall professional yet comfortable look.

“That will do just fine,” Mycroft decided after giving her a quick look. “Excellent choice and precisely within the dress code.” He appreciated her effort, particularly since she had only arrived at his home with less than a week’s worth of clothing. “Get your coat and we’ll be off.”

\--------------------------------------------

A short time later, Mycroft and Rose were ushered into the Swedish ambassador’s office. “Mycroft,” Axel Gustavsson greeted with a smile and a handshake.

“Axel,” Mycroft replied, inclining his head and shaking the man’s hand. “Allow me to introduce my sister, Rosenwyn Holmes.”

“A pleasure, Miss Holmes,” Gustavsson murmured, shaking her hand. “Can I interest you both in some tea?”

“Coffee?” Rose asked, taking a seat in front of the ambassador’s desk.

Mycroft barely resisted the urge to snort at Rose’s all too predictable request. “Nothing for me, thank you.”

“Certainly! One moment.” The ambassador disappeared and returned a few moments later with coffee for both himself and Rose. “It is quite unfortunate that we are forced to meet one another under such unpleasant circumstances.”

Rose accepted the cup of coffee and sipped it delicately. “Unpleasant is rather an understatement,” she challenged in a soft, yet edgy tone.

Gustavsson coughed a bit. “It is. My apologies for the poor word choice. The sentiment remains the same, however. I am very pleased that you could come this afternoon, Miss Holmes. And of course it’s always pleasant to see your brother.”

Mycroft gave a polite but not particularly pleasant smile.

“As you can well imagine, I asked you here today, Miss Holmes, to offer you a formal apology for Counsellor Carlsson’s bad behavior this past Saturday. We take such issues very seriously and of course have no wish to cause an incident between our two countries. Myself and my government offer you very sincere apologies for your discomfort,” Gustavsson continued.

Rose settled back in her chair a bit, one eyebrow quirking in a rather ominous manner. “I’m not particularly inclined, at this time, to accept your apologies, Mr. Gustavsson. Your word choices give me reason to believe that you do not take the matter as seriously as you should. “Bad behavior” and “discomfort” are words that would be better applied to something much less serious than an attempted sexual assault,” she pointed out.

Mycroft watched his sister out of the corner of his eye, feeling tense but not letting it show. She was skating on a thin edge between being justifiably displeased and outright insult.

Gustavsson paused momentarily to choose his words a little more wisely. “I am not trying to make light of your ordeal, Miss Holmes; far from it in fact. It is not my intention to insult you further and sincerely regret that you take issue with my choice of words. Mr. Carlsson’s behavior was appalling in the extreme, particularly in light of your relationship to Mycroft and--”

“So it would be less appalling to you if I were related to no one in a government position that could cause you great discomfort? It is appalling merely because Carlsson should have thought twice before making advances against the sister of Mycroft Holmes?” Rose challenged. She kept her voice even, but it was clear she took great exception to the ambassador’s attitude.

“His behavior should be completely appalling whether or not it was committed against my person. Assault is assault is assault, no matter who the victim may or may not be. All women deserve the respect of those around them and should not feel unsafe because they don’t happen to be related to someone like my brother. Is your government merely sorry because they potentially angered Mycroft? That is the impression I am getting and it makes me very, _very_ displeased. If that is not the case, I suggest you rethink the remainder of this conversation so that it illustrates that your government does not tolerate behavior of Mr. Carlsson’s ilk.”

Mycroft was growing tenser by the second, but was well skilled at hiding it. Rose was completely right, but if she pushed too hard she might do more harm than good. He watched with great interest as Gustavsson’s face went through several color variations before settling on the vivid red of embarrassment and the man squirmed slightly in clear discomfort.

“I fear I have made quite a muddle of this and I apologize for giving you the wrong impression,” Gustavsson finally responded. “We, both the embassy and my government, take all cases of assault equally seriously, particularly those against women and have no tolerance for the way Mr. Carlsson treated you. It was disrespectful in the extreme, it was criminal, and he will be severely disciplined by the government back home in addition to being stripped of his diplomatic status. Our response is the same we would have should any woman be assaulted in such a manner, regardless of the existence, or lack thereof, of their relations.

“It was never my intention to insinuate that we took this incident more seriously because of Mycroft or to play down the seriousness of it with my poor word choices,” Gustavsson continued. “I hope, Miss Holmes that you will accept the Swedish government’s apology and our assurance that the matter has been appropriately responded to. Please also accept my sincere personal apologies for the outrageously inappropriate behavior of one of my subordinates.”

“Gladly,” Rose replied, clearly very pleased by the ambassador’s latest apology attempt. “I don’t hold this against your embassy or the government by any means, but sincerely appreciate your swift response to the matter and the due seriousness with which you have treated it.” She stood up and placed the empty coffee cup on his desk and held out her hand. “I’m certain you’re a very busy man, Mr. Ambassador, and would hate to keep you from your work. Thank you again for your time and apology.”

Gustavsson shook her hand and Mycroft’s before bidding them a good day and seeing them to the door of his office. The Holmes siblings collected their coats and exited the embassy.

“My dear, I’m very glad you’re a dancer,” Mycroft told his sister as they made their way to his car.

“Oh yeah? Why?” Rose asked, sounding surprised.

“It took you all of three minutes to make that poor man completely uncomfortable without once stepping across the lines of courtesy,” he explained, looking down at her with a smile. “You’d make a dangerous and formidable politician, my dear and I for one do not want you on the opposing side.”

\-------------------------------------------------

The Holmes siblings parted ways after the visit to the embassy, with Mycroft returning to the office and Rose heading off to the studio to teach and then practice. As per usual, Rose returned to Mycroft’s completely drained of energy. Finding the house empty, meaning Mycroft might be involved in a bit of crisis management that could take all night, Rose skipped dinner entirely, showered and went straight to bed, falling asleep almost instantly.

Mycroft did manage to return home around 3am, more than ready to have a brief night’s sleep and then start the rat race all over again come morning. It was a miracle that the amount of stupidity in the world had not yet caused it to completely implode itself. Before retiring however, he opened the door of Rose’s room to peek in on her, the same way he had when she was a tiny baby. She was in bed, asleep, just as he had expected, but, much to his great concern, she sounded as though she were _crying_ in her sleep.

Entering the room, Mycroft hurried over to her and discovered that yes indeed, she was crying softly in her sleep, squeezing the hell out of a bear dressed in a nurse’s uniform. Carefully he sat down on the bed and began rubbing her back, murmuring soothingly until her tears stopped and Rose appeared to be sleeping peacefully at last. He dropped a kiss on her forehead before exiting the room.

‘Any further thoughts on what is bothering Rose? M’

‘Nope. SH’

‘She was crying in her sleep, holding a nurse bear. M’

‘I’m growing concerned. M’

Sherlock scowled down at his phone. Nurse bear? That sounded familiar. Hadn’t John purchased her one, which sat on her nightstand? Getting out of bed he retrieved the key to Rose’s flat and let himself in, heading straight for the bedroom. Sure enough, the bear that usually sat on her nightstand, that she’d dubbed ‘Johnbear’ for reasons he didn’t quite consider to be sound ones, was gone.

‘I may be on to something. Will investigate and get back to you. SH’

‘Thank you. M’

Locking the flat behind him, Sherlock went back to his own room and began searching his mind palace for what in the world would make his sister hold her stupid bear and cry in her sleep and what role John might play it.

 


	40. Mending Fences

Sherlock would never understand how normal people could sleep for so long each and every night. So many hours were wasted with little brain activity and no knowledge gained! And when he was waiting for someone who was normal to awake, it felt as though that person never would. In particular, he was waiting for John to wake up, and had been for the last hour. He’d gone to bed for two hours after his late night texting with Mycroft, but now he was wide awake and waiting for one John Watson to manage to rouse from a deep slumber.

Finally, at 7:30 he could hear John coming downstairs, his familiar footfalls a sound well ingrained in Sherlock’s mind. “Would you care to tell me what precisely you did to my sister?” he asked the very second John entered the kitchen.

His mind still fuzzy from sleep, the doctor simply frowned at Sherlock as if waiting for the gears in his head to begin turning once more.

“She was crying in her sleep last night while holding the bear you gave her,” Sherlock enlightened his sleepy friend. “Mycroft is concerned and so am I. What did you to do my sister, John?”

Now fully awake, John grasped for a response. “Well, we fought obviously when she walked on in Sarah and me,” he began. “As for the crying… She has nightmares, Sherlock, about when she was attacked. Weren’t you aware?”

Sherlock frowned and shook his head. “That’s just like her though. Or just like her now at any rate. She’s become very reluctant to share her problems with people.” He sighed heavily before continuing on. “Whatever the problem is, you need to solve it. Whether the tears are because of you, as I suspect they are but cannot prove, or from nightmares, your actions caused her to leave Baker Street. You _will_ get her back here John.”

Would Rose come back? Recalling the wounded look in her eyes, John wasn’t so sure.

“Cupcakes,” Sherlock commented, interrupting his friend’s thinking.

“Sorry?”

“Cupcakes John. She requested that I pass on the message that cupcakes should accompany your apology.”

John smiled a bit. “Sounds just like her,” he admitted. “I’ll give it my best effort Sherlock.”

“Today,” Sherlock directed.

The doctor had no delusions that the simple word ‘today’ was anything less than a not-so-subtle order. “Which cupcakes are her very favorite?”

“Chocolate. If there’s more than one kind with chocolate, buy one of each of the chocolate ones and don’t expect her to share them,” Sherlock warned. “You’re reasonably intelligent John, more than the average person at any rate, so I’m sure you’ll think of a suitable apology.”

If only he was as confident about it as Sherlock seemed to be, John grumbled to himself.

\-----------------------------------------

The following morning, Greg hummed with delight as he sipped his macchiato and pointedly ignored the snickers of his young assistant. “Have a seat, will you Rose?” he asked. “I need to talk to you about something.”

Rose sat down, her face clouded with concern. She’d never been good at wearing a blank mask the way her brothers were. “I’m not being sacked, am I? I thought I was doing a really good job,” she said sadly. “Whatever I did, I can fix it and it won’t ever happen again.”

“What? No, no, of course you’re not getting sacked! Best employee I’ve got,” Greg told her sincerely. “The rest of ‘em fight with me and each other like cats and dogs and whine about who gets what high profile case or why do we need bloody Sherlock Holmes… Annoying is what they are.” He gestured out at the rest of the floor, rolling his eyes while he did so.

Now thoroughly confused, Rose’s look of concern became a frown. “Then what do we need to talk about? Or I did I do something wrong but not wrong enough to get sacked?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Greg cautioned. “I wanted to give you a heads up, or a warning of sorts. Sally Donovan is going to be back in two weeks. She just finished her undercover assignment and is taking a well earned holiday before returning to her regular duties here.” When Rose looked at him blankly he continued on. “The woman you ruined a crime scene with.”

Rose’s face immediately flushed red at the reminder of that particular event. “What precisely does that mean for me, Greg?”

“Just… try to be nice to her, alright? And I’ll inform her of exactly what I’ll be expecting in terms of her treatment of you. I really don’t want any trouble between you two ladies--” Greg paused to give Rose a _look_ when she snorted. “I want you to both to work hard at getting on together and not giving me a headache on a daily basis. Not that I anticipate you causing trouble, but I rather thought you’d like the heads up before she just wanders in here.”

“I can’t promise we’ll be besties Greg, if that’s what you’re after,” Rose cautioned. “But I can promise that I will do my best not to interact with her any more than is absolutely necessary and will keep said interactions civil.”

“That’s good enough for me,” the detective-inspector agreed. “Just make certain you keep that promise.”

“She won’t be my boss though, will she?” Rose asked, more than ready to quit if that odious woman was going to become her supervisor. A girl had her limits of what she could tolerate!

“No, you’re still my assistant and no one else’s. However, just like with anyone else here, if she asks you for a certain file or document that you have access to, provide it for her and you’ll type up any reports as usual. She’ll have no more claim on your time and efforts than anyone else on this floor and I’m the one who makes the calls on what you do and don’t do,” Greg clarified.

Rose let out a sigh of relief. “Alright, this is do-able then. I can make it work. I do have one request though. Please make it very clear to her that she is not to make any derogatory comments about my brother where I can hear them.”

“Done,” Greg agreed. “Now then, on to what I need you to do today…”

\----------------------------------------

While Rose busied herself with the typical duties of her day job, John sat in his office at surgery, working his way through a long shift. More than a little distracted, he fought to keep his attention on the tasks at hand. Locum work was by and large rather routine and boring; at least in comparison to what amounted to crime fighting with Sherlock. Still, John was certain he had never been more distracted, out of focus, and generally on edge as he was today. He only hoped his patients didn’t notice it!

“John? John, is everything alright?” Sarah asked, jarring him out of his thoughts. “I knocked on the door and you didn’t answer for the longest time. You ok?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” John hurried to assure her. “What’s up?”

“Well I was wondering if you wanted to go out again; tonight. Maybe go back to my place instead of yours,” Sarah offered. “Where we won’t get interrupted.”

John coughed a bit and shifted in his seat. A part of him wanted very much to say yes, while another part of him was completely uninterested. “Uh… You know, that’s a really great offer,” he finally responded, forcing himself to smile. “But I already have plans for tonight. Rain check?”

Sarah nodded and smiled. “Sure. You’ve got my number. Anyway, looks like your next one’s ready.” She indicated the light on the desk’s communication device. “I’ll let you get to it. Better answer before Jane comes to investigate.”

Giving her a bit of a wave as she left, John pressed the button to connect him with the receptionist. Time to put his fractured thoughts aside and focus on the patient; who hopefully would not be another person with the common cold!

\----------------------------------------------

Several hours later, Rose and Alfred had just finished a run through of their flawless cha-cha routine to Michael Buble’s ‘Dance With Me’ when the practice room’s doors opened. “Hey Rose?” Louise called, sticking her head inside the room. “You’ve got a visitor. Can you take a break or should I eat your cupcakes for you?”

Rose immediately knew that her visitor was John, given her conversation with Sherlock the day before. More than a little exhausted physically, she wasn’t entirely certain she was up to having a conversation with John but cupcakes were a good sign. “No, you can’t eat my cupcakes,” Rose replied. “Let’s take fifteen Alfred and then go again. Can you, uh, make yourself scarce for a bit?”

“Sure. I’ll get something to eat and hang out in the locker room,” Alfred offered. “Shout for me when you’re done.”

All three exited the practice room, Louise taking over the front desk once more while Alfred headed for the locker rooms. For a moment Rose and John just looked at one another, before finally Rose spoke. “Um, let’s go in the practice studio, alright? Bring the cupcakes.” She gave him a small smile and held the door open.

Once inside the studio, face to face with Rose, John found himself tongue-tied. He held out the box of cupcakes as a peace offering while he attempted to put his thoughts back together.

Taking the box, Rose slowly sat down on the floor, her body stiff and aching, earning herself a questioning look from John. “Don’t go all doctor mode on me, please? It’s perfectly fine if I’m a bit stiff and sore. Either Alfred and I are going to be brilliant in a few weeks or I’m going to break in half from our occasional lack of coordination. But I’m fine.”

John sat down as well and then reached out and took her hand, squeezing it gently. “You’d tell me if you weren’t, wouldn’t you? No matter how mad at me you are?”

Rose couldn’t imagine anything she’d like less just then than John’s hands all over her, checking for, and soothing, every ache and pain he could find. “I would,” she lied. “Hi. This feels awkward by the way.”

He chuckled and let go of her hand. “Hi to you too. It does feel very awkward, and I hate that more than anything. We’ve missed you at Baker Street. _I’ve_ missed you at Baker Street. I don’t have anyone to make coffee for anymore and the entertainment factor that you and Sherlock provide is very much lacking.” As apologies went, even he knew it wasn’t the greatest start of one.

John took a deep breath and continued on, feeling Rose watching his every move with interest. Would he say it right? Would she accept his apology? “I didn’t do that to hurt you Rose. I don’t ever want to hurt you like that and I hope you know that. My head just got away with me, too wrapped up in the moment and I didn’t think past… well… what was going on.”

“That much was clear,” Rose chuckled. She opened the box of cupcakes and helped herself to one. “My favorites; all my favorites actually. Good job.” The nervousness was coming off John in waves and knowing how difficult it was for him, for them both really, she tried to be encouraging. “Want one?”

“I ate three of my own earlier,” John admitted, getting a bit red in the face. “I’m… I’m not apologizing for being with Sarah--”

“I know,” she interrupted. “And I wouldn’t expect you too. We aren’t together and so there’s nothing for you to apologize for in regards to enjoying the sexual favors of other women. Sarah’s nice anyway. You could do worse.” Rose shrugged, trying to be nonchalant.

John cringed at the way she said ‘sexual favors,’ almost as if he had been unfaithful where no faithfulness had been required. “Am I making a muddle of this?” he asked, sounding a bit defeated.

“We make a muddle of everything lately, you and I,” Rose admitted. “Feeling and acting more like silly teenagers than adults. Or at least that’s the way I’ve felt. I can’t deny that it hurt though, to see you with Sarah, and whether or not that’s the teenager or adult side of me that felt hurt, that’s the truth of it.”

“I’ve felt that way quite a bit myself. It’s a really awkward place to be, especially at my age. Honestly though Rose, I never meant for you to see that. I wasn’t with her to hurt you or anything of the sort. That’s not the kind of man I am,” John told her earnestly. “I meant to move upstairs with her, before you came home. We got carried away and I lost track of time.”

Rose looked thoughtful as she continued to nibble on her cupcake. “So it wasn’t a concerted effort on your part to make a point? It wasn’t a preplanned thing?”

John shook his head. “No. God no! I would never purposely hurt you like that Rose, ever. I care too much about you to do such a thing. I hope you know that, really and truly know that.”

“I was very angry, and I really did believe that was what you had done,” Rose admitted. “But what one thinks in the heat of anger generally isn’t the most sensible thing. You’re not a cruel man, John and I know that.”

He squeezed her hand once more, giving her a smile as he did so. “I’m glad. But I really am sorry that you saw what you did and were so hurt by it. I should have been more respectful. Since the moment you arrived, our flat has been as much yours as ours. You’re also a creature of habit, something I believe you share with Mycroft, and habit dictated you would come in for a bit of a chat as per usual.”

She nodded, confirming his suspicions about her similarity to her eldest brother, and squeezed his hand in silent encouragement.

“I hope you accept my apology, and my promise to keep things that should be private, private. In reality that had no real place in a sitting room when one has a flatmate,” John admitted.

“How can I not forgive a man who brought me cupcakes?” Rose murmured, smiling a bit. “I really care about you John and I don’t want to be at odds with you. I’m glad you came and I do accept your apology and your promise.”

John let out a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding. “Good. So you’ll come home to Baker Street then? To Sherlock and me? Please say yes. It’s not been the same without you there, for either of us.”

Rose hesitated to agree to go home. It _was_ home, her home, and though she and Mycroft had enjoyed their time together, the townhouse really wasn’t home anymore. Baker Street was home; Sherlock and John were home. Yet as much as she tried to hate John over the last several days, Rose found herself completely unable to. Somehow she knew she wouldn’t give up hope that John would change his mind about the two of them. But really, what mattered the most is what made her happiest and home, Baker Street, was the place where she was happiest.

“Yes, I’ll come home. But not tonight,” Rose cautioned. “Mycroft texted earlier and said he’ll likely be gone until the wee hours of the morning. I don’t want him to come home and discover I’ve gone off in the dead of night. If it’s serious enough he’s going to be that late, I’ll not bother him with a text. Tomorrow, after practice, I’ll come home.”

John found himself feeling happier than he had in days. Lighter even, now that his apology had been accepted and Rose was coming home, even if she delayed her return until tomorrow. Giving her a genuine smile, he pulled Rose into his arms and kissed the top of her head.

“Just a bit glad, hmm?” Rose murmured, unable to stop herself from melting into his arms. She took a deep breath, breathing in his scent, and gave a happy sigh.

“More than a bit glad,” John admitted, whispering the words into her ears. What that said about the status of his plan to _not_ have a relationship with Rose wasn’t particularly great, but in that moment he couldn’t care less. It felt so good to have her in his arms, knowing she was coming home. He had missed this, and knew Rose had too. She made it abundantly obvious by the way she so easily melted into his arms, nestling close the way she always had.

“As lovely as these cuddles are, I need to get back to work,” Rose admitted after a few moments. She was more than a little reluctant to say the words, but they did need to be said and the cuddles come to an end. “The competition is coming up quickly and I’m quite determined to win this time.” Slowly and carefully she got up from his lap, unable to help cringing a bit as she did so.

“You’re sure you’re alright?” John asked, standing up. “Just regular dancing aches and pains, nothing more?” He couldn’t keep her wrapped in cotton wool, he knew, but John very much disliked the thought of her actually hurting or injured above and beyond the general complaints that accompanied any strenuous physical activity.

Rose smiled indulgently at him. “Nothing more John. Go worry over someone at surgery or something and let me be. I’ve kept poor Alfred waiting long enough! I’ll see you tomorrow at home.”

“At home,” John echoed. “Good night, love.” He gave her a smile before exiting the studio, leaving Rose to her dance practice with Alfred.

\------------------------------------------------------------

“Where’s my sister?” Sherlock asked, not looking up from his microscope.

John rolled his eyes and replied, “Well hello to you too. Rose is at the studio still, I’m sure. She’ll be home tomorrow.”

This time Sherlock did look up, specifically to frown darkly at John. “Why not tonight?”

“She said she didn’t want to sneak off in the dead of night. Mycroft is working late I guess.”

“Ah. Good choice then,” Sherlock decided, turning his attention back to the microscope. “Have you worked out whatever is going on between the two of you then?” Moving away from the instrument, Sherlock looked up and moved away from the kitchen table long enough to grab a specific mold culture. He took no notice of the fact that John was seemingly frozen in place, his jaw hanging open, staring at him.

“There’s… I don’t… What exactly do you mean Sherlock?” John finally managed to respond after a moment of awkward staring and stumbling over his words.

“I mean precisely what I said John,” Sherlock responded in an exasperated tone. “I cannot quite put my finger on it, but there’s something going on between you both and I am curious to know if it’s been sorted out. I’d really prefer not to have Rose wandering willy-nilly around London, going from Baker Street to Mycroft’s on a regular basis. It would make Mycroft particularly insufferable.” He could only imagine the gloating of how Rose wanted to spend just as much time with him as she did with Sherlock, like some sort of very odd custody agreement.

“There’s nothing Sherlock; nothing at all. I really don’t have any idea what you’re trying to imply that there might be,” John lied in what he hoped was a very convincing and authoritative tone. He leveled at gaze at his best friend that in the army would have caused young recruits to take a step backwards, mentally if not physically.

The detective looked up at the doctor, examining the other man with a penetrating look that made John feel as if his very soul were about to be bared to Sherlock’s ruthless scrutiny. The two men stared at each other, one searching for information, one hiding that information, neither willing to give up. Finally, after a few tense minutes had passed, Sherlock returned to his microscope. Something _was_ going on, he was certain of it, but Sherlock knew it would take more than an attempt to stare down John Watson to uncover it.

\-------------------------------------------------

Lit candles sent a glow over the large, luxurious bathroom and the faint scent of roses wafted up from the bubble-topped water in the old claw foot tub. Some might call it silly that roses were among her favorite flowers (the other being tulips) and scents (the other, more preferred scent, being vanilla), considering that was her name, but Rose could care less. It was both a lovely and soothing scent for a long soak in the tub and her body was definitely in need of some hot water therapy.

Stripping down in the bathroom, Rose looked at herself in the large mirror over the sink. Even with the flickering glow of candles as the only light source in the room, she could still see it. Or rather ‘them,’ if she counted the scars from being attacked. Those marks weren’t the ones that concerned her just then though. Instead, Rose was a bit worried about the massive bruising on the left side of her torso. Dark, ugly, large and tender to the touch, the bruises had been there for three days already and showed little sign of healing.

Bruises had come and gone along both sides of her torso, as well as her hips, as she and Alfred worked on their new routines. Sherlock’s assistance had helped cut down the number of times she was dropped but Rose knew she’d made the choreography of three of their numbers particularly strenuous and intricate. The more skill required, the more likely she was to fall, either from her own fault or Alfred’s and falling she had been. For a while the tumbles had abated, but a few bits in particular continued to trip them up. Knowing the routine was a winning one if they could pull it off, she refused to change it.

Her fingers ghosted across the skin, causing her to wince when they crossed particularly tender areas. Rose couldn’t help wondering whether or not she was close to breaking ribs yet. Maybe some padding might help protect them a bit, she thought. Though that idea presented problems of its own. Her outfits were already custom made and did not have room for any additional padding. And really, wouldn’t she be hurting above and beyond stiffness, aches and some mild pain if she was actually close to bruising or breaking her ribs? Surely she’d know, her body would tell her and she could address the problem then.

“No use borrowing trouble,” Rose told herself. Turning away from the mirror, she climbed into the tub and sank into its heavenly soothing warmth, sighing with contentment.

\-----------------------------------------------

“I’m heading back to Baker Street today,” Rose announced at breakfast the next morning. Or at least while she attempted to get breakfast from her eldest brother who had a bad habit of hogging all the scones and coffee cakes that his cook made.

After she poked his arm repeatedly, Mycroft reluctantly passed a scone over to her. “Pest,” he scolded. “So, you’re going back to Baker Street. Does that mean you’re ready to tell me why you invaded my home with no prior warning?” His tone was causal but his look was piercing.

“No,” Rose responded defensively as she headed for the coffee maker. “There’s nothing to tell. There was never any problem, I just needed a break.”

Mycroft’s eyes narrowed as he frowned at her back. “A break that I believe was precipitated by something that upset you and was not caused by an overload of our dear brother and his appalling habits.”

“It’s hard to rest and relax there sometimes. It’s much quieter here and maybe I just wanted to spend some time with you.” Rose gave him a smile as she crossed the room with her scone and coffee. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“As much as I would love that to be the truth, I know it’s a lie,” Mycroft countered as he sighed with exasperation. “Did we or did we not just discuss a few days ago that you are not required to handle problems on your own? That you should ask for help if you need it? You don’t just decide to come home on a whim, Rose. I’ve been hoping you would confide in me, but since you’re departing without any clear intention of doing so, you’ve left me no choice but to be very direct with you. Is there a problem at Baker Street that I should be aware of?”

A finely shaped eyebrow arched as Rose met her brother’s gaze, before giving him an overly sweet smile. “We did indeed have that talk Mycroft, and I won’t quickly forget your kind assurances that I have resources such as yourself at my full disposal should I have need of them. Aside from that, dear brother, I frankly have no idea what you’re talking about. There is no problem and there has been no problem. If such a problem existed, would I really go back to Baker Street? You worry far too much, Mycroft. Your concern is very sweet.”

Mycroft was well aware that her look of wide-eyed innocence was merely a smoke screen, one designed to reassure and flatter him while ultimately distracting him from the truth. “If I find out there’s something going on that I should have been made aware of but wasn’t, I promise you, young lady, there will be a very sore bottom waiting for you. Omitting the truth is still a lie and I detest lying. Is that understood?”

Rose looked down at the coffee in her cup, shuffling her feet ever so slightly, feelings of guilt and exasperation playing across her face. She was exasperated at her brother’s insistence that something was wrong and refusal to believe nothing in particular had driven her from Baker Street, yet she felt just a bit guilty for knowingly keeping something from him. But really, there wasn’t a ‘thing’ to keep from him at all. She and John had patched things up and there was nothing more to be said about any of it.

“I understand,” she finally responded, looking up at him with grim resolve. “Please don’t interrogate me My. Please try to trust me. I’ll ask for your help if I need it, but I don’t have any need of it presently. And for future reference, unless it is an emergency situation, pushing me is by and large counterproductive.”

Her tone was quiet and respectful, but Mycroft could hear the edge underneath the softness. Suddenly feeling concerned that his pressing of the issue would make her reconsider coming home- or coming to him- in the future, Mycroft quickly crossed the room. Taking her coffee and scone and setting them aside, he wrapped his arms around her.

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you,” he whispered. “No problem I wouldn’t solve, no person I wouldn’t eliminate, no situation I wouldn’t resolve. It’s my job to worry about you and just because you’re twenty doesn’t mean I stop worrying. In fact, it means I worry more because you’re not here at home. You wouldn’t come home the way you did for no reason and if the problem was Sherlock, you’d happily tattle on him,” Mycroft pointed out. “Therefore, I am worried. I wish you would tell me, but I can see that you won’t disclose what is bothering you. If it’s the nightmares, I already know.”

Rose stiffened in his arms, immediately feeling betrayed. The only person who knew she had them was John! She’d never told anyone else about them at all. “Who told you?” she demanded angrily.

“You did.”

Her head shot up, eyes wide, confusion written loudly all over her face. “No I didn’t!”

“You were crying in your sleep night before last,” Mycroft explained in a soothing tone. “Do you understand now why I’m concerned? Why I think you might be keeping something from me?”

“I didn’t realize I’d done that,” Rose said honestly, a frown settling on her face. “I suppose it was to be expected after what happened at the reception. Sometimes I don’t remember having them or don’t wake up. Sometimes I do wake up from them. They’d been better lately, but I really didn’t know I cried the other night.” She didn’t remember any dreams or nightmares at all the last two nights, but chances were she had one or had been dreaming about John and been upset by that but not woken by it.

“Ah,” Mycroft murmured. “That makes sense. But you’ll tell me if there’s anything at all, in or out of Baker Street?”

Rose nodded, giving him a bit of a smile. “I will, promise. Try not to worry too much.” She would keep her promise, too, but really, love and broken hearts fell far out of a big brother’s purview!

Had Mycroft known what she was thinking, he would not have agreed.

\----------------------------------------------------

Did they think he was stupid? Sherlock was beginning to think that was precisely what his sister and his flatmate thought. Ever since Rose had returned to Baker Street almost two weeks ago, they’d both become insufferable. Perhaps it wasn’t that they thought he was stupid, but that they themselves were stupid. In any case, it was becoming ridiculous.

Oh, they carried on much as they always had, Rose and John, but little things were different. Just little things, here and there, that he couldn’t help but notice. Though clearly stiff and sore, Rose gently rebuffed John’s attempts to doctor her and none of John’s scolding thus far had changed her mind. Sherlock wasn’t convinced it was just normal dancer wear and tear but he certainly wasn’t going to force Rose to let John examine her. It was very curious though!

That wasn’t the worst of it, as far as Sherlock was concerned. Every once in a while John’s and Rose’s hands would touch and then move away from one another quickly, as if some sort of electrical shock had occurred. Then there was the looking. _So_ much looking. Lovelorn looks, adoring looks, wanting looks. They did not look at each other, because that would just be too easy. No, no, they looked at one another when the other couldn’t see them.

John’s face lit up whenever Rose entered the room and his eyes followed her around the flat. The doctor thought it wasn’t noticeable, hence Sherlock wondering if they thought he was an idiot. John watched her leave with a bit of longing, reluctantly let go of her when hugging occurred, looked away when Rose turned in his direction with a hint of pink crossing his face. Many adoring, loving looks, looks John had never shown before but clearly found impossible to hide. Either that or John didn’t realize he was giving those looks.

Rose was little better. She was the one with lovelorn looks and wanting looks, as if gazing upon something she wanted but could not have. She blushed bright as a cherry when John caught her looking at him and a moment of awkwardness would pass between them. Rose leaned into John’s hugs more than she had before, yet did not seek them out as much as she previously had, which was quite odd for his very affectionate and cuddly little sister.

Sherlock may not have any experience when it came to the idiotic thing called _love_ but he certainly knew what it looked like and all the indicators were there between Rose and John. If they were trying to keep it from him they were doing a particularly terrible job of it. If they were unaware, then they were in fact lovesick idiots. Sooner rather than later all this nonsense would begin to affect The Work as well, something Sherlock didn’t want or need. His blogger needed to be clearheaded and as ready to rush into dangerous situations as always.

Could they really not know, Sherlock wondered. And if they didn’t, how much longer would it take for them to figure it out? As far as Sherlock was concerned, they better sort it out before it drove him completely mad.


	41. 21st Century Warfare

“So, next Thursday, you’re off to your competition, yeah?” Greg confirmed over coffee in his office on a Friday morning.

“Yep and I’m going to win it too, you wait and see! Sadly that means you’ll have to find your own macchiato that morning, poor dear detective-inspector,” Rose teased before sipping her own. “This macchiato thing is pretty good. Not as good as my usual, but I feel like I’ve expanded my horizons by trying it.”

Greg smiled and opened his mouth to say something but paused when he noticed a sort of hush had fallen over the floor of the department. It took him only a few seconds to realize what had caused the sudden quiet as Sally Donovan came into view as she strode with determination towards his office.

Rose’s gaze had followed Greg’s and the moment she had been dreading had arrived. She watched as Sally crossed the room, taking in her smart business suit and heels, and the reasonably attractive face that was frowning more and more as the woman came closer to the office. “She is definitely unhappy,” Rose murmured.

“Sally! Nice to see you,” Greg greeted the sergeant when she stepped into the office. “You’re looking well. Sit down,” he offered, indicating the chair next to Rose.

“What’s this, then?” Sally demanded to know. She didn’t take the offered seat, but rather stood in the doorway giving Rose a look of contempt.

Greg frowned at his sergeant. “Sally, sit down.” His tone was more insistent this time but Sally continued to ignore him. “Rose works here. She’s my assistant; types up reports and does filing and all that sort of thing. She’s a good worker Sally and you’ll be nice to her. Rose has promised to be nice to you in return.” It felt a little bit like telling misbehaving children to go to separate corners and cool off, which really wasn’t the sort of atmosphere he wanted to have in the department.

Before Sally could respond, Rose held out her hand in the woman’s direction. “No hard feelings, okay?” She kept her voice even, hoping the woman would respond in kind, but after what felt like a very long minute, but was really only about thirty seconds, it was clear that Sally had no intention of shaking her hand.

Her gesture made Greg smile but Sally’s refusal to even acknowledge the friendly attempt at smoothing things over made him frown.

“Collecting pets now?” Sally inquired. Before Greg could respond, she turned her sharp tongue on Rose. “You can leave now, little pet, the grown-ups want to talk.” She smirked when Rose’s face went red and she hurriedly left the office, closing the door behind her. Only then did Sally sit down.

“That was unkind Sally, and out of line,” Greg scolded. “She’s a kid, and a good kid at that. What’s more she’s a hard worker and done a lot of good around here at keeping us up to date with our paperwork. She doesn’t deserve your contempt and anger, especially when you were just as much at fault at that crime scene as she was. I’d warned you over and over again, identify yourself or one day it’s going to come back and bite you in the arse. Lo-and-behold, I was right, wasn’t I?” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair.

“She got me transferred Greg and you just let it happen,” Sally said, crossing her arms defensively. “I don’t enjoy undercover work, especially when it involves an extended period of time. Then I come back and she’s here, your new little pet project? Don’t tell me you didn’t think I’d mind.” Greg had to know her better than that, Sally was sure of it.

“She did not facilitate your transfer Sally. That’s completely ridiculous,” Greg told her bluntly. “I saw the orders myself, they came from well above my pay grade and in addition to that, it was something you were well qualified for. I was hardly in a position to say no.”

“Maybe _she_ didn’t, but that brother of hers had to be involved somehow,” Sally retorted.

Greg had harbored suspicions of his own that Mycroft Holmes had had his hands in the very sudden appearance of an assignment that required Sally’s participation so shortly after the crime scene debacle. Having suspicions was one thing, proving them was another, and from all that he knew of Mycroft it would be impossible to trace the order back to him in any way.

“Then take that up with Mycroft,” Greg suggested with a shrug. “I won’t stop you. I don’t think it would be a good line of inquiry to take, to be honest, but that is entirely up to you. In the meantime, don’t take your anger out on Rose, who had absolutely nothing to do with that, whether or not her brother was involved.” Before Sally could respond, he got up from his desk and brought Rose back into the office.

“Now look, I’m not asking either of you to be friends, alright? But I’m not going to be your keepers either. You’re both adult women and can manage to work in the same environment without killing each other, and frankly I don’t want to deal with it if you do kill each other. This department is about _solving_ murders, not making them, so let’s keep it that way. Besides, it would look really bad for our stats if we started manufacturing our own murders,” Greg pointed out. “So I expect you both to behave professionally while you’re here. Is that understood?”

Both Sally and Rose nodded, confirming that it was in fact understood. Whether or not they’d stick to it or make his life miserable, Greg wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t going to look for extra trouble to deal with.

Sally Donovan, however, had other ideas. She had no desire to murder Greg’s little pet, as she mentally referred to Rose, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t extract a little payback here and there for having her life turned upside down for months of an undercover investigation. Harmless little things that would go unnoticed but would ultimately give her a bit of satisfaction. After all, what was the worst that could happen?

\-------------------------------------------------------

If there was one thing that Rose hated perhaps more than anything else, or at least more than anything else she could think of at that moment, it was being patronized. And Sally Donovan could patronize with the best of them. Ever since mid-morning she had run Rose ragged, giving her every possible task that she could get away with giving and Greg had been no help at all; not that she’d really bothered to complain. After all, most of that Rose had been retrieving or copying or looking for in the case archives were items that Greg would need to look at eventually so she kept her mouth shut and did it for him. He was always much nicer about sending her off to find things though, and rarely sent her to the archives in the depths of the building. He had officers for that sort of thing.

Sally, however, had no compunction in ordering Rose around. “Kid, I need a box from old case storage. H. Beaumont, 1998,” she announced, stopping by Rose’s desk. “Hop to it.”

“I’m working on something for Greg,” Rose replied, indicating a particular report she was writing up. “Is it high priority or can it wait ten minutes?”

“If it could wait ten minutes, I’d wait another ten and ask you, wouldn’t I?” Sally quipped, sounding more than a little annoyed. “You Holmes lot think you own the world, don’t you?” This was hissed under her breath a bit, but was loud enough that Rose caught it all the same. “You’re an _assistant_ and I’m a sergeant, so start assisting, _now_.”

With a huff Rose left what she was working on and headed down to the archives to search for the specific case. It took her more than twenty minutes to finally locate the heavy boxed and heft it back upstairs. It was a good thing the building had lifts or neither Rose nor the box would likely have been seen again, meeting their death on the staircase. Finally she made it to Sally’s desk with the box.

“Took you long enough,” she grumbled, giving Rose a dark look. “Wait, what is this? This isn’t the box I asked for!”

Rose’s jaw dropped. “Yes, it is. You said H. Beaumont 1998, and that is this box. It was the only box with this label there and it took me ages to find.”

“No, I told you H. Beaulieu 1988. We’re trying to solve a case here, you know, and this is wasting time. Now bring this back down and don’t come back until you’ve got the right box,” Sally ordered sternly. “Go on then!” She smirked as Rose grumbled and stalked back off with the box.

“Sally,” Greg said, pulling Sally out of her delight at Rose’s discomfort. He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Rose is my assistant, not yours, yeah? And those boxes are quite heavy. Send an officer next time you need case files that are going to be that size.”

Sally inwardly groaned but nodded. “Sure thing, boss. She didn’t complain though.”

“She wouldn’t,” Greg admitted. “She’s too stubborn.”

\---------------------------------------------

Trying hard to be the bigger person, and be more professional than that awful Sally, Rose struggled to keep from losing her temper all day long and was more than a little sick of that woman by the time she finished for the day. During all her time running hither and yon, an idea, a bit of a prank, had occurred to her and as the day wore on, she was convinced that she should utilize this scathingly brilliant idea and get just a wee bit of harmless revenge. In order to pull it off, however, Rose would need a bit of help and hoped to find it among the IT department.

Before leaving for the day, she stopped into the IT department and waited to be noticed. When she was, Rose waved at the man, giving him a brilliant smile, and waited patiently for the man to make his way over to her.

“Hi! I’m Rose, I’m Greg Lestrade’s assistant,” she introduced herself, offering her hand.

“Bob Greer, nice to meet you,” the man in his late twenties replied, shaking her hand. “What can I do for you Rose?”

“Well, I’ve got a bit of an unusual request,” she admitted, beginning to blush just a bit. “And feel free to say no, but I’ve been dying to play a harmless little prank on someone in our division and could use your help…”

\-------------------------------------------------

“There’s my girl,” Sherlock murmured several hours later as the door to the flat opened. He didn’t even need to look at the door, he could tell by the footfalls coming up the stairs that it was Rose. He smiled when Rose came right over to him and hugged him tightly. “Thank you for texting that you’d be later than usual,” he said sincerely.

“I don’t have to, but I thought it would be courteous,” Rose explained, kissing his cheek.

“No, you don’t have to,” Sherlock confirmed. If it came down to it he could track her mobile, but he much preferred that she communicate with him when her schedule changed, especially late at night. “But I’m glad you did, I worry.”

“And I’m glad you worry. Means I’m loved,” Rose smiled before moving away to start tea.

“I’ll take a cup,” Sherlock commented. “What kept you late? Being a perfectionist and driving poor Alfred insane?”

Rose shook her head. “No, we’re doing really, really well. We’re going to win Sherlock, I know it. We’ve got it this time around.” She carefully avoided answering the main question, considering the truthful answer was one Sherlock wouldn’t like. She’d stayed a bit later at the studio, taking a half hour to ice her side in the girls’ locker room and allow the ibuprofen to kick in.

“So I should expect more late nights before your competition? Will you be giving yourself a bit of a holiday afterwards?” Sherlock inquired, even as he turned his attention back to the mold cultures he was growing.

“Probably should expect some more, yeah,” Rose admitted. “And I do plan a brief holiday, though not from teaching or working for Greg, just from super intense competition practice. You’re still coming, right? You and John both?”

Sherlock nodded. “Mycroft said you uninvited him and was quite put out by it.”

Rose giggled. “There are a few dances, the samba in particular, that I think would thoroughly horrify him. As in ‘I need to rush up to Rose and drape a blanket over her scantily clad body and make her stop these unladylike movements’ sort of horrify. It’s for the best, trust me.”

“Did you cut that move from your tango routine that I told you to? I was seriously concerned Alfred was going to injure you doing it,” Sherlock commented. When Rose remained silent, he looked up at her, arching an eyebrow.

“Tea? Rose offered, holding out the cup towards him.

Taking the tea he set it down before crooking his finger at her. He watched her hesitate just briefly before closing the space between them. “You didn’t take it out, did you? You’re the most stubborn little idiot,” he murmured when Rose’s face flushed, though his tone was not without a considerable amount of affection. “Rosenwyn, if you get hurt because of that, I’m going to be very angry with you. You had plenty of time to redo the routine without that in it and there’s no reason to take unnecessary risks like that.”

“It’s a winning move,” Rose protested. “You know it is Sherlock. The more advanced we show ourselves to be the better our chances of winning.”

“You’re going to win alright; win a trip right across my knee if you get hurt and I mean that. You’re not allowed to break your foolish neck. At least not on my watch, do it on Mycroft’s instead if you absolutely have to,” Sherlock grumbled.

Rose giggled, ignoring the stab of pain she could feel in her left side for doing so. “Mycroft wouldn’t thank you for that sentiment you know.”

“Mycroft never thanks me for anything,” Sherlock replied, even though that wasn’t necessarily the truth. Or at least not always the truth at any rate. He pulled Rose closer to him and leaned down to kiss her head. “We only have one of you, you know,” he whispered, even though there was no one besides the two of them to hear it.

“Remember that yourself the next time you go chasing some maniac or jumping in front of lorries or betting that the guy with the gun won’t really shoot you,” Rose suggested with a cheeky grin.

\----------------------------------------------------

The weekend flew by in a whirlwind of practice and soon it was Monday. Rose arrived at the Met with coffee for herself and Greg, as per usual, and sat at her desk to await the reaction to her little prank. The scathingly brilliant idea she’d come up with and recruit Bob from IT’s help with was actually very simple. Printscreen the screen, save it as a photo and copy/paste it as the background; hide all the folders and task bar away so only the recycling bin remained, and watch chaos ensue as the victim was unable to access anything at all. It was simple but brilliant and Rose couldn’t wait to see how Sally’s reaction. She was not disappointed. Sally came in and sat down at her desk and attempted to open a web browser to check her email and daily reports, but it wouldn’t work. She tried to open a file and that wouldn’t work either. Much angry mouse clicking ensued as she tried repeatedly to double click and open something, anything at all. When that failed, it was followed by banging the entire mouse on the desk, the sound of which was accompanied by grunts of anger as Sally was thwarted in each and every attempt.

This, Rose thought to herself, was how you waged war in the 21st century. Divide and conquer via the impairing of your foe’s electronic devices. Sherlock would be so proud of her when she told him about this!

By now the entire division was silent aside from the noise Sally was making as they watched the sergeant lose her cool over a computer problem. Finally, just as Sally threw the mouse onto the desk hard enough to crack it, Greg decided enough was enough. “Alright, alright, we’ll get IT up here to fix this,” he assured Sally. “I’m sure you haven’t lost anything, it’s just… froze up or something.”

“Do you want to use mine?” Rose offered. “I’ve got filing I can do until IT figures yours out.” She gave Sally a wide, pretty smile which the other woman met with a thin lipped look of death.

Something passed between them and it didn’t go unnoticed by Greg, whose eyes narrowed as he looked back and forth between the two. “That’s a great idea, thank you Rose,” he said after several seconds. “Come into my office and do the filing until Sally’s fixed up, and I’ll give IT a ring.”

As Greg turned away to reenter his office, Rose turned a devious little grin in Sally’s direction for the briefest of moments before turning away.

\---------------------------------------

A quiet little prank war ensued following the ‘fixing’ of Sally’s computer by Bob from IT. Once her own computer was ready, Sally managed to find a moment that the department was buzzing and smeared a large helping of super glue on the back of Rose’s chair, having already noted the younger girl’s habit of flopping into chairs.

An hour later, when Rose tried to get up from the chair, she found her blazer stuck to the back of it. A series of completely undignified wiggling then occurred as Rose struggled to get out of her blazer. Once that was accomplished she had to use serious force to remove the blazer from the chair, ripping it in the process.

“This is my favorite blazer,” she grumbled to herself, lamenting the loss of her only polka dot blazer.

“What a shame,” Sally commented with feigned sympathy. “I’ve got needle and thread if you want to try and sew it back up…” She stopped when Rose showed her the back of it, which was clearly beyond the point that simple repairs would do the trick. “Well, I’m certain you can find a seamstress somewhere to fix that up again, possibly.”

Rose huffed and traded desk chairs before getting back to work.

Tuesday brought another round of pranks and since Sally had initiated the use of old school pranking, Rose responded in kind. Having discovered that Sally harbored a love for Oreos, Rose snuck a tube of toothpaste in her purse and, during her lunch break, took the liberty of scraping away the yummy white filling of Sally’s labeled packaged. Replacing the filling with toothpaste, Rose carefully re-taped the package as she’d found it and tucked it back into the cupboard.

Later, Rose felt a tiny bit bad when Sally gagged and nearly lost her lunch after biting into one. That tiny bit of sympathy quickly evaporated when later that afternoon, she discovered that her diet coke had been replaced with sprite and soy sauce. Despite promptly spitting out the disgusting fake soda, the taste of it had so turned her stomach that Rose lost her lunch in the waste bin as well. Throwing up caused shooting pains in her side, making Rose grimace as she fought through the wave of pain that followed.

Once her stomach was settled, she hastily swallowed four ibuprofen, promise to John be damned. Pain out-weighed promises. For the first time she wondered if perhaps she should go in to a see a doctor. Not John, definitely not John, but there were loads of other doctors. But if she did that, she might be pulled from the competition and even if she wasn’t, there would be no way for Rose to keep Mycroft from finding out and _he_ would most definitely keep her from competing. No, she’d just have to soldier on. It was only a few more days and then she could have a good rest and things would heal up just fine on their own.

Rose made certain to stop in at IT once more before leaving that night. She’d had her fill of old-school tactics.

\------------------------------------------------

As the Veronicas _Take Me on the Floor_ excerpt neared its end, Alfred bent and pulled back slightly, allowing Rose’s body to nearly touch the floor before bringing her back up. One and a half more turns and Rose’s back was to her chest, arms stretched up above her head. Alfred wrapping his right arm around her right thigh and his left arm wrapped around her midsection in preparation to spin her twice in the air round his left arm before carefully lowing her to the ground.

Or at least that was the plan, and had been for some weeks, despite Sherlock’s insistence early on that the move be cut from the routine and a different finish utilized. This, above and beyond all other lifts, spins and other intricate movements was the one that they struggled with the most and had resulted in the most drops Rose had suffered. As Alfred moved to place his arms in the right positions and lift Rose off her feet, he got her once around his arm and then dropped her, hard on her left side. Even over the final notes of the music, Alfred could hear a sickening snapping sound. “Rose, oh my god. Rose, I’m so sorry!” Alfred exclaimed. Though he’d said the words several times, dozens or even hundreds at this point, he meant them each time he had to say them. “Are you hurt? Did I break you?”

Rose hit the ground, hitting it hard on her left side. A searing pain shot through her torso, her breath was completely knocked out of her and the world went black.

Ten minutes later Rose began to slowly regain consciousness, the sounds of a hissed argument reaching her ears.

“We have to call someone. Her brother, an ambulance, someone!” Alfred insisted.

“She will murder you if you do that. They won’t let her compete Thursday! Let’s wait and see how she is. Look, she’s even waking up!” Louise responded. “Rose? Hey girl, it’s Lou. How many fingers am I holding up?”

Rose blinked her eyes several times before the blurriness went away. “Two; index and middle,” she responded. “What happened?”

Louise let out a sigh of relief. “See? She’ll be fine. Al here dropped you for the millionth time. He wants to call your brothers, because apparently you went crunch. I said screw that and got you an ice pack, but Al’s all kinds of concerned.”

The mention of the ice pack caused Rose to shift her eyes in the direction of her torso. “No wonder that side feels so good. I can’t feel anything, that’s magic ice you got there Louise. Did I really go crunch?”

Alfred cringed and nodded. “Well, sort of more of a crunchy-snappy-popping noise to be honest. I thought maybe I’d broken your arm or nose or something, but all that looks fine. A broken nose would definitely ruin our look.”

“Prolly broke my rib you git,” Rose grumbled. “It’s kinda sorta been verging on it for weeks.”

“And you didn’t tell John?!” Louise gasped. “Girl, he’s going to kick your arse when he finds out about this.”

“He isn’t going to find out! I’ll wrap it or something. Google and figure out how to try and ease the pain and stuff, at least until the competition is done. And ibuprofen, loads and loads of it,” she decided. “And if all goes well, I’ll take a long holiday and it’ll heal itself up without issue and he’ll never know.”

“Why do we not want John to know? John’s the doctor bloke, right?” Alfred asked. He could never quite keep up with the array of friends, relatives, and odd combinations thereof that Rose’s circle of people constituted.

Louise nodded at him. “Yeah, he’s the doctor. They’re having a thing right now, he and Rose, a ‘we’re in love but can’t date because of the bro code’ thing… Ouch!” She scowled at Rose and rubbed her arm where her best friend had just pinched her quite hard.

“Alfred doesn’t need to know that. The less people that know, the less likelihood that Mycroft and Sherlock will figure it out. John’s deathly terrified of being castrated,” Rose admitted with a sigh. She giggled weakly when Alfred’s eyes bulged at that very mention of such a thing, but winced as the giggles caused her discomfort.

“Can we take you to A&E or something?” Louise asked. “Maybe Alfred’s right, you know? If you don’t want John there are plenty of other doctors you could see, get some good pain meds. There will always be other competitions.”

“No,” Rose replied vehemently. “I won’t miss this competition, not after I worked so bloody hard to get ready for it! And any doctor with his license would forbid it and once Mycroft found out, he’d even more firmly forbid it and imprison me or something.”

“True that,” Louise nodded. “So what can we do?”

“Google. Google what I should be doing to help myself heal and how to wrap my ribs for the competition. I don’t think they do wrapping anymore, but I haven’t got a choice. At least most of my costumes will allow me to do that. Otherwise I haven’t got a chance in hell of surviving this.” Rose groaned and moved from her back to her right side, settling the ice pack more firmly against her side as Louise began googling broken ribs on her mobile.

\-------------------------------------------

After downing far more ibuprofen than John would ever allow her to consume, taking a soothing bath, and having some tea, Rose somehow managed to get some sleep despite her aching rib- or ribs as the case may be. When Wednesday morning dawned bright and sunny, Rose ‘ran late’ and stopped into 221B only briefly to grab a piece of buttered toast, her shoes and purse before heading out the door to take the tube to the Met. The less time she spent around Sherlock and John the less likely it would be that they found out she was injured. She’d worry about their wrath at being kept in the dark on it when and if she crossed that bridge, not before.

Though the pain dulled some of the excitement of seeing the latest deployment of her weaponry, ie Bob from IT, in the war against Sally, Rose was looking forward to seeing the woman’s reaction to her latest scathingly brilliant idea. It came in handy that Bob disliked Sally, who he found rather haughty and condescending in general, which worked for Rose’s advantage in terms of plotting.

Bob worked his magic on her behalf and by Wednesday morning Word’s correction function had been set to replace common words such as ‘the’ or ‘and’ with the word ‘arse.’ Rose hadn’t specified a specific substitute word, leaving it up to Bob, who suggested ‘arse’ and she had readily agreed, imagining the hilarity of anything Sally typed up and printed without reading it first.

It was a serious struggle to keep from constantly watching Sally as the day went on excruciatingly slowly. It would be horribly disappointing if Sally didn’t discover it until tomorrow when Rose was gone at the competition but the day wasn’t quite over yet.

As coffee time drew near, however, the tampering was discovered but not by Sally. Instead, it was discovered by Greg who went to retrieve several witness statements that were waiting for him on the printer. He took them back to his office and scanned them briefly, the error jumping out at him. “That can’t be right. I must be seeing things,” Greg murmured to himself. He read on, finding it again and again, realizing a bit belatedly that the word ‘arse’ was inserted not at random, but at specific intervals, indicating either a phantom keystroke prank or tampering with Word itself.

Initially it was sort of amusing, but when he realized that the errors were liberally sprinkled throughout each of the ten witnesses statements for various cases, it was not so funny anymore. Looking up from the unusable documents, his eyes narrowed as he surveyed Sally and Rose through the window of his office. Neither of them _looked_ particularly guilty at just that moment, but they had been up to something since Sally’s return.

It was subtle, so subtle it hadn’t really dawned on him until the day before that they were actively having a go at one another. Tampering with each other’s food was rather childish, but not particularly harmful, and if both of them suffered upset stomachs from it he hadn’t been inclined to be sympathetic about it. Certain that pranks would quickly lose its appeal, Greg had chosen not to say anything and let the nonsense run its course. Obviously that had been a mistake as one of them had tampered with Word and made a mess of these statements that one or both of them would need to sort out.

“Playtime is over,” he murmured, getting up from behind his desk. Greg stuck his head out of the door and called out to them. “Rose, Sally, come in here a minute will you?” He deliberately kept his voice even and friendly, not wanting to create gossip amongst the rest of the department. Retreating behind his desk once more, he watched as the women in question turned accusing looks on one another before coming into the office.

“Ladies… ladies…” Greg began, running his hand through his hair. This sort of thing made him rather uncomfortable and not just because he happened to like both of the employees sitting in front of him. Breaking protocols, abuse of author, the usual sort of ‘misbehavior’ one dealt with when running a division Greg could handle without a problem. This was a bit more delicate and he was decidedly uncomfortable at giving them both a dressing down over it, even though it was well deserved.

“You two have been having a bit of fun the last few days, haven’t you?” he began. “I don’t want to hear who started it and why, because frankly all this prank stuff is kiddie games. Not particularly appropriate, but not harmful really. So the biscuits and blazer and whatever else you’ve been doing of that kind I’m not even going to get into the gory details of it. First off, all that nonsense stops now. Right here and now, I don’t want anything further and if you’ve got stuff planned or ready to go, you’d best unready it when I let you both out of here. Understand?”

Sally and Rose exchanged a look that Greg couldn’t quite read; perhaps it was surprise that he had caught on? Or surprise that he wasn’t going to have a fit over those things? Well, they were about to be unsurprised. “Well, ladies, you’ve gone too far. I should have stopped all this when I suspected it was happening, but I had really hoped you’d both come to your senses and stop acting like children. Yes, Sally, children.” It amused Greg just a bit that Sally immediately took a defensive posture and opened her mouth to protest, whereas Rose’s face was growing rather red and her eyes shifted away from him.

“This is too far ladies, and I have to say, I’m really disappointed. Which one of you is responsible for it?” Greg slid the statements towards them and waited while they looked them over.

“This one’s mine,” Rose admitted, beginning to fidget in her seat a bit. “I was rather mad about my blazer, it was my favorite. Bit not good, I get that now and I sincerely apologize. I’ll make sure it gets undone right away, and retype all those myself. I guess it hadn’t occurred to me that you might be inconvenienced by the autocorrect tampering.”

“Thank you for being honest,” Greg said sincerely. “And definitely a bit not good. None of this has been good, and I’m going to have to think about some appropriate consequences for you both. I’d rather not have this on either of your employment records and I’ll keep it off those records providing I get a promise from each of you that these kiddie games are done and won’t happen anymore and you accept whatever consequences I decide are an appropriate response. You’re both adult, professional ladies and this…” He gestured to the statements. “And all of this really is beneath you both. I’m very, very disappointed.”

Rose felt an overwhelming urge to cry as guilt settled heavily in her stomach. She wouldn’t, that was childish, and Greg was absolutely right. It had been very petty of them both and what was worse was not only that she started it, but that she never bothered to stop it either. “I promise I’m done, it’s done, and I’ll fix those statements. I’m very sorry, sir,” she said softly, dragging her eyes back up to meet Greg’s. It almost made it worse that he didn’t look angry with them; disappointment was always much harder to take, especially from someone she respected as much as she respected Greg.

The detective-inspector nodded, satisfied with her promise and more than a little impressed that he’d wrung a ‘sir’ out of her. “Good, I’ll hand these off to you then,” Greg replied, gathering the statements into a pile before handing them over. “Sally?” He gave her a questioning look, arching an eyebrow in a silent challenge. If Rose could be grown up enough to admit she was mistaken and promise not to do something so silly again, in front of Sally no less, there was no reason why Sally couldn’t do the same in front of Rose.

“Of course. I apologize as well and will refrain from engaging in childish activities with your p—er, assistant,” Sally said, just barely stopping herself from referring to Rose as Greg’s pet.

“Good. Back to work, both of you. Rose, fix Sally’s computer first and then work on these statements for me.” Dismissing them both from the office, Greg was left to decide what exactly to do with his prankster employees. He’d meant what he said about keeping this nonsense off their employment records, especially in Sally’s case, considering the high praise she’d garnered from her undercover assignment. There was plenty of work to do in the case archives, but he couldn’t send them both down there. Lord only knew what they’d get up to if there wasn’t someone keeping a close eye on them. While Rose was far more likely than Sally to have started the pranks, he had no doubt that Sally had egged Rose on to do it, so he was definitely not sending them off for quality time in the archives.

With a sigh he reached for his mobile and dialed a number he very rarely found the need to call. After several rings the call was answered.

“Mycroft Holmes.”

“Mycroft, Lestrade,” Greg greeted.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your call, Detective-Inspector?” Mycroft asked. “Or should I say displeasure? Which one of them is it now?”

Greg couldn’t help but laugh at Mycroft’s immediate assumption that he was calling about one of the Holmes siblings rather than in regards to a case. “The little one, I’m afraid.”

“Please tell me she hasn’t assaulted anyone,” Mycroft immediately responded.

“Uh… no, no she hasn’t. Should I be concerned about that?” Greg asked, feeling as if he was missing something important.

“No, not particularly I suppose. It’s a long story that would bore you and only serve to make me angry with Sweden again,” Mycroft admitted. “But do go on, what’s that ridiculous child done this time?”

“You know, I almost feel badly for you Mycroft, except I can hear that edge of affection in your tone,” Greg joked.

“That is not affection. I do not indulge in sentiment. It is merely weariness and dread,” Mycroft corrected, sounding a bit disgruntled. He scowled at his mobile when he heard the other man chuckle again.

“Well, seems that she and Sally Donovan got into a bit of pranks with one another and things went a bit too far today. I’ve got the slight paperwork mess sorted out, and promises that they’ll both behave like adults from now on, but I’m a bit at a loss on what to do with Rose. I don’t want to give her a task where Sally will also be paying penance, so to speak. I guess I was looking for some assistance,” Greg explained.

“Oh I find that I have a few ideas for them _both_ ,” Mycroft grumbled. “Though I have the feeling you’re looking for a consequence only I can provide my wayward child. Would that be correct, Detective-Inspector Lestrade?”

Greg smiled just a bit to himself at hearing Mycroft refer to Rose as his child. “Your wayward child?”

“Well if she isn’t _my_ wayward child I don’t know whose she would be,” Mycroft retorted, rolling his eyes. “Am I correct in my interpretation of your call?”

“Yeah, you are,” Greg admitted. “You don’t mind if I pass this one of to you, so I can keep it off her employment record and keep her and Sally apart?”

“Well, yes I do mind, because I have better things to do then put Rose over my knee for what most certainly must be the millionth time in her twenty years on this earth. Nevertheless I will handle it,” Mycroft replied.

Greg groaned, having not really anticipated that being the outcome of involving Mycroft. For some reason he thought the eldest Holmes might give the youngest a stern talking to and they could consider the matter closed. Being called to task by your brother at twenty-years-old had to be equivalent to a day spent in the case archives. At least in his mind it was! “She’s going to hate me for calling you, isn’t she?” he asked with a sigh.

“Doubtful. She doesn’t hate me,” Mycroft admitted. “So I would wager you’re safe. Best of luck with your employees Detective-Inspector.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UP NEXT: Rose braves attempts to brave the pain and compete, and things between she and John finally have a resolution (one I think all will enjoy!). Stay tuned!


	42. There May Be Trouble Ahead

Rose watched as Sally stormed out of Greg’s office and sat down at her desk with a huff before shooting a look of death in her direction. Rose quickly looked away, focusing on her work but expecting any moment to be called back into Greg’s office. It was oddly reminiscent of the many times she had been sent to the office at school, to be scolded, given detention, or wait to be collected by someone. Though her stomach was full of butterflies, Rose kept calm and composed, unwilling to let Sally see that she was nervous.

“Rose, come in here a minute. Bring those witness statements with you if you’re finished,” Greg requested.

Taking a deep breath she gathered the corrected witness statements and went into Greg’s office, shutting the door behind her. She sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk and handed Greg the papers. “Here you go sir. They’re all finished. Again, I’m really sorry about all of this.”

“It’s alright,” Greg assured her. “There’s no reason to be all formal with me now. You’ve handled yourself well today and I’m pretty pleased about that. Owning up to your mistake, apologizing and then making it right-- there’s a lot of adults that wouldn’t do that.”

“Wow,” Rose murmured, feeling a bit surprised. “Thank you. I lost my head a bit, but I didn’t want you to think I didn’t respect you or this job. It was the right thing to do. Every once in a while I give evidence of the fact that Mycroft made a reasonable human being out of me,” she told him with a grin. “With Sherlock’s help of course.”

Greg laughed loudly and shook his head. “I still don’t understand any of it. But they did a fine job, however they managed to. One of the great mysteries of the ages,” he teased. “Speaking of Mycroft… Well, I decided what I would do about today.”

“Oh god,” Rose moaned. “Please tell me you didn’t call Mycroft!”

“I did, yeah. I didn’t tell him what to do with you, I have no idea for sure what he’s planning, but I thought he might do some good in a way that I can’t. I can’t put both you and Sally in the archives, I’d have blood on my hands if I did.” Greg explained.

Rose knew all too well what Mycroft would do with her and she had no idea how she would manage to hide her injuries from him. It would be horribly painful to go over his knee just then, yet she wouldn’t be able to explain why it hurt. What a mess!

“I really don’t think it’s going to be as bad as all that,” Greg said, trying to reassure her. “I text him and put in a good word for you.”

“Lots of good words, I’ll need all the help I can get,” Rose told him with a sigh.

\------------------------------------------------

A few hours later Rose was walking through Whitehall on the way to her brother’s office. She’d received a text requesting her presence and had agreed to come since she and Alfred had already decided to forego practice in order to spare her rib. Mycroft apparently was too busy to speak with her at home, but had time between meetings to see her at work, which made Rose very nervous. If he planned to spank her, would he do it here?

Unfortunately, Rose was forced to admit to herself that it wouldn’t be the first time and it would be all the more humiliating now than it had been at age six. Taking a deep breath and pushing the unpleasant memories of that particular day out of her mind, she entered the area where Mycroft’s office was located. Anthea was, surprisingly enough, not at her desk when Rose arrived, forcing her to knock on Mycroft’s office door.

“Come in Rose!” Mycroft watched as Rose entered the room and closed the door behind her before promptly leaning back against it. She was essentially the embodiment of anxiety, her eyes looking everywhere but at him. When it became clear she wasn’t going to say anything or come any closer, he sighed heavily. “Come here Rose. I’m not going to carry on a conversation with you standing all the way. Tea?”

“Tea?” Rose repeated, looking confused.

“Yes, tea. And biscuits,” Mycroft told her, indicating the plate on his desk. “Come now, I’m not that frightening am I?”

She blushed bright red and shook her head, quickly crossing the room. “No, not really,” Rose assured him. “I just wasn’t sure what to expect, that’s all. You and your biscuits and cake,” she teased, accepting a cup of tea.

“You and your ice cream and chocolate sauce,” Mycroft responded in kind. After handing her a cup of tea he moved away from his desk to sit on the small couch, bringing the biscuits with him, and motioned for her to join him. “Well sister mine, light of my life, plague of my existence, whatever am I to do with you?”

Rose giggled. “Light of your life? That can’t possibly be accurate. Are you feeling well Mycroft? Should I be concerned?”

Mycroft made a non-committal noise, neither confirming nor denying the validity of the statement. “I hear you’ve been quite… creative at work of late. Care to explain all that?” He gave her an expectant look before drinking his tea.

Between biscuits and sips of tea Rose told him the whole of it, from Sally’s jabs to the dressing down in Greg’s office earlier that day. “So there you have it,” she said with a sigh. “Please keep in mind I have a competition tomorrow.”

Mycroft couldn’t help but admire her creativity, though of course he would never say such a thing aloud. What to do with her, however, he wasn’t certain just yet. “Have you learned anything from this?”

Rose nodded. “It was a poor choice. I sunk to her level of nastiness and I’m not proud of myself for that. I should have thought about it more and realized that getting even would bring only momentary satisfaction and the potential to impact me professionally. I like working for Greg, I like it a lot. It’s a good job, I feel useful, it helps me be more financially independent and I might have ruined it. What I did inconvenienced Greg and thankfully he’s a cool guy--”

The eldest Holmes rolled his eyes at Rose’s description of the Detective-Inspector.

“And was willing to let me put things to rights,” Rose continued. “It mattered that I took responsibility for what I did and it made me realize that I’m better than that. Greg deserves better than that from me. It was inappropriate and unprofessional and I don’t want to have that kind of reputation. So I apologized and I’ve stopped. No matter what Sally does to me from here on out, I won’t retaliate. I’ll tell my boss and let him sort it out because that’s his job. That’s what I learned.”

Mycroft rewarded his sister with a smile, leaning over to kiss her forehead and tuck a stray curl behind her ear. “Then I don’t believe there’s anything more that needs to be said on the matter,” he decided. “Provided it never happens again. No, _no_ , don’t pounce on me!” Mycroft warned when Rose looked ready to do so.

Luckily for him, instead of pouncing she merely leaned over and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tight. “I love you My,” Rose said sincerely. “Thank you.”

“And I you,” Mycroft replied. “I’m glad things didn’t have to be unpleasant. However, I really must insist that you stop growing up behind my back, it’s quite disconcerting. I worry you won’t have need of me anymore,” he said, only half-teasingly.

“I’ll always need you!” Rose assured him. “Who else will disappear my enemies? But be honest with yourself, you’re only disconcerted because it makes you feel old, and, well, you _are_ old.” She flashed him a cheeky grin, her eyes alight with mischief.

He reached out and tugged on her ear warningly, causing her to squeak. “Horrible brat. I share my biscuits and you call me old. As much as I would enjoy keeping you here and torturing you for that comment, I have a meeting in fifteen minutes that I cannot avoid. Now you’re sure I cannot come tomorrow? I wouldn’t be able to come for the whole competition anyway, but you’re certain that if I had some free time I cannot come?” _Free time_ , Mycroft thought. What a lovely and deluded concept. He had rare moments of peace between headaches and international crises, very little of which was actually _free_.

“Very sure,” Rose told him emphatically. “It’s for your own wellbeing, I swear it. I promise to call and give you all the details if I don’t fall asleep from pure exhaustion right afterwards.” Getting up from the couch she hugged Mycroft tightly once more and whispered, “Love you, you old Mycroft, in his ear before kissing his cheek and leaving the office.

\-------------------------------------------------

‘She still won’t let me come. M’

‘And I care because why? SH’

‘Take videos. M’

Rather than receive a text response, the mobile in Mycroft’s hands rang. “Yes, Sherlock?”

“Let me get this straight. You want me to take videos, presumably on my phone, of her dances. Are you well Mycroft? Experiencing a fever? Hallucinations?” Sherlock asked.

“I am very well, though I do thank you for your concern,” Mycroft retorted. “Is there a problem with wanting to see Rose dance since I have been forbidden to attend?”

“You’re turning into one of _those_ parents and I find it frightening. I’m not certain I should contribute to your downward spiral.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “This is very important to Rose and I am very proud of her hard work, dedication and skill. She’s a beautiful dancer and there’s nothing wrong with wanting to see part of her performance, is there?”

“Normally no, but this is rather out of character for you, Mycroft. You, who missed every recital and competition from ages thirteen to seventeen,” Sherlock pointed out.

“She had you there,” Mycroft replied after a brief pause.

“She did, but it was you she wanted.”

Mycroft could hear the words that Sherlock hadn’t said. _You cannot make up for the past._ He struggled to swallow the lump in his throat that had suddenly appeared without his permission. _Sentiment_ ; so obnoxious.

The pause between responses was longer this time as both brothers, unbeknownst to one another, shifted in their seats. Sherlock found himself frustrated to feel a sliver of guilt for pointing out Mycroft’s mistakes to him, along with the general discomfort of engaging in a conversation of this sort, the openness of it unnerving them both.

Finally Mycroft sighed. “I did my best Sherlock. And don’t act like she doesn’t adore you! She always has.”

“Clearly, and with good reason,” Sherlock replied with an edge of arrogance to his tone “But I’m not the same, thank god for that. If you’re certain you want to become one of _those_ parents, then I suppose I’ll film a dance or two for you, even if I do find it a bit silly. Also it might prove helpful should I wish to blackmail you.” There was no hiding the glee as he mentioned blackmailing Mycroft.

“You’re a horrid boy Sherlock. Always have been,” Mycroft commented in a tired tone with just a hint of affection. “I must go, I have a meeting.”

Sherlock made a noise of dismissal before ending the call.

\-----------------------------------------------

“How are you holding up?” Louise asked as she slipped into Rose’s flat.

“Surprisingly well. I’ve taken a _lot_ of ibuprofen though. John would have an epic fit if he knew,” Rose admitted, flushing just a bit. “Thank you so much for agreeing to help. I can’t have Alfred in the loo and I can’t wrap myself up either.”

Louise smiled and nodded, joining her friend on the couch. “No problem! It’ll be fun to be in charge of your hair and make-up tomorrow. We’ll practice tonight, right? I’m surprised Mycroft doesn’t hire a professional for you.”

“I’d rather have you, or do it myself. Someone I trust. You know as well as I do that the presentation is an important element of the overall dance. What if someone came and did a horrible job and I looked like some Cheapside doxy or something?” Rose asked, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

Louise snorted. “You and your telly, always picking up words and phrases like that. Or your books if it’s not telly. Though _Ripper Street_ is a good one,” she admitted. “I still can’t decide who is hotter, Reid or Jackson?”

“You’re a Jackson girl. You like the rough edges, Reid is too polished for you,” Rose pointed out.

“True enough. Though you might just be saying that because Reid’s prose and lovely Victorian cant makes your heart flutter,” Louise teased.

The girls had a good laugh, or at least attempted to, before Rose clutched her side and moaned. “Laughing, bad. Very bad,” Rose murmured, her face pinching with pain. After breathing very slowly and keeping quite still for a few minutes, the pain eased.

“You know, when I was googling how to wrap you up, they don’t do that anymore,” Louise pointed out carefully. “It can restrict you too much and can contribute to contracting pneumonia while healing. Are you sure you want to do that tomorrow? It wouldn’t look bad if you pulled out Rose, broken ribs are a serious injury. Bonnie and everyone would understand.”

Rose shook her head. “No, I have to do this Lou. After all this hard work and all the spills and pain, I _have_ to do it. I’ll make it through. I’ll only be wrapped for a few of the dances.”

“Four of them,” Louise corrected. “Look, I’ll help you, you know that. Just… you’ll go in and get it looked at after, right? It looks _so_ bad.”

“I will. I just need to get through tomorrow. Luckily my costumes will all hide it, except the one, even if I can’t be wrapped for all of them.” The rumba costume, thankfully, opened on the opposite side of her injury. The samba costume had very little skin showing between the top and skirt and what did show could be covered by copious amounts of make-up.

“Alright, let’s practice wrapping you then before we match make-up and hair to your outfits,” Louise suggested.

\-----------------------------------------------

Back at the Met with the evidence all in order for delivery to the crown prosecutor’s office the next day, Greg and Sally were finally packing up to leave. Things had been a bit tense since Greg had sentenced Sally to spending the day in the archives tomorrow, a very boring and tedious task that had come in handy quite often for disciplinary purposes. But now he noticed that Sally wasn’t looking tense so much as she was… worried? Confused?

“Everything alright Sally?” Greg asked as he put his coat on.

“I’ve got the strange feeling I need to do something before I go but I can’t remember what it was. Going to bother me all night until I remember it,” Sally admitted with a sigh.

“I’m sure you will, and it’s really not like you to forget anything of great importance anyway,” Lestrade reassured her. “Have a good night.”

Sally waved him off and stayed at her desk for a few moments longer but, still unable to remember, she left with a sigh just as the janitor was walking through.

The janitor was a kindly fellow, a Mr. Philips, getting up in years that had been working there for a couple decades now. His work was always impeccable, he was kind to everyone he interacted with, and always very eager to assist when there were any sort of janitorial emergencies that came up. Sometimes he tinkered around with office furniture that was causing problems: screws that needed tightening, providing the bit of oil needed for the height adjuster to work properly, and similar other tasks.

Tonight, he had one such task that had been given to him that morning. Crossing the room, Mr. Philips approached the desk of the young girl who assisted the man in charge. Sally Donovan, who had the desk nearby had mentioned to him that the young girl’s chair was having problems moving and asked if he could loosen one of the wheels for on it. It had seemed a strange request, but the sergeant had been quick to assure him that the young lady, Rose, had no wish to bother him and didn’t want to mention it herself.

Turning the chair over on its side, he inspected each wheel and found none that had noticeable difficulty moving, though he suspected one was being a touch finicky and unscrewed it a few times as the sergeant had asked. Once that was finished, he pushed the chair into the desk and got on with the rest of his work.

\------------------------------------------

“You have the best outfits in the studio, you know that right?” Louise asked. She stood at the door of Rose’s closet, carefully fingering each of the six dresses that had been custom made for her best friend.

“Well, helps that I’m tiny and therefore unlikely to fit in anything the studio already has without making it look weird or tacky with the adjustments,” Rose responded. She was lying on her bed, icing her left side.

“How did you get so tiny? Your mum wasn’t short, don’t know about your dad, but Mycroft and Sherlock are tall,” Louise pointed out.

“A recessive gene, I suppose, that decided to make a reappearance. I did some genealogical digging one time and there are some shorter Holmes family members back a couple generations. I think they married tall people and the tallness took over,” Rose explained. “Which one is your favorite?”

“Not a fan of the slinky rumba number. It’s flattering on you, but the pale blue shade isn’t my favorite. It opens on the right, rather than the left, I see, which is a bit unusual. Worried about your scar on that side?”

Rose nodded, reaching up to finger the scar on her chest. Sometimes she swore it still hurt, but knew it was only phantom pain, and only when she was really anxious about it being seen. “The scars hardly show anymore, right? Or at least not as noticeable if you aren’t up close?”

“They’ve lightened up considerably. You had a good surgeon. Don’t worry about them Rose, okay? If you get anxious, we’ll cover them,” Louise offered. “Your samba outfit is adorable; this yellow is perfect with your coloring.” She took out the hanger with the bikini-like top and little skirt with layers of ruffles. “And naturally you must have your pink!” She smiled as she fingered the short fringy cha cha dress. “Also the polka dots, Rose Holmes, you are practically a polka dot all on your own.” She swished around the puffy skirt of the jive outfit, a blue polka dot skirt with a red sash and plain yellow top.

“Naturally! I really like all my outfits this time around. Latin is really my favorite of the ballroom styles I think,” Rose mused. “Lou… I can do this tomorrow, right?”

“In terms of pain or making it worse? That’s something I can’t answer,” Louise admitted. “In terms of coming over pain through sheer determination and stubbornness? I think you got it made, so l think that as long as Alfred doesn’t drop you, you’re going to place really high. If he drops you though, Sherlock is going to drag your arse off the floor and have an epic fit about how injured you are. But, you wouldn’t be a Holmes if you weren’t as stubborn as the day was long.”

The girls playfully stuck their tongues out at each other before Louise returned the garments to the rack in the closet.

\------------------------------------------------

At 7am the following morning, the Baker Street clan, plus Louise and Alfred, set out for the competition venue in Bristol. Somehow Rose ended up sitting beside John, the last place someone should sit when trying to hide an injury! Thankfully he didn’t seem notice anything amiss, other than the fact that she was nervous.

“You ok?” John asked, wrapping an arm around her.

Despite her better judgment, Rose snuggled against his side. “Nervous. I want this _so_ bad,” she whispered.

John pressed a kiss to the top of her head before resting his cheek against it. “You are an amazing and beautiful dancer,” he said softly. “Though I might be a little bit biased, considering that you’re my dance teacher.”

She didn’t have to see his face to know he was smiling that handsome, teasing smile of his and her face blushed prettily in response.

“Don’t be nervous love. Believe in yourself, and your partner,” John continued. “Deep breaths and be brave.” He kissed the top of her head once more, letting her stay cuddled against him for a bit longer since she didn’t seem eager to pull away.

Over in his own seat, Sherlock let out a heavy sigh of disgust and rolled his eyes before looking away. They were relentless and seemed to not even realize it! Though how that was possible Sherlock really didn’t know.

A short time later they arrived at the venue and parted ways with the girls and Alfred heading for the dressing rooms. The competition was large, featuring thirty couples who attended by invitation only. Each round would feature eight couples with the numbers whittled to the final four by the fifth number and two couples for the final number.

Rose scowled when she saw the name of the couple who won her last competition among the invitees.

“Screw ‘em, you got this,” Louise announced, taking the program away from Rose. “This is your day girl and, if by some fluke it’s not, I’ll go kick their arse and steal their prize, m’k?”

Rose giggled and hugged her best friend tightly. “What would I do without you? What’s first?”

“The romantic rumba to one of my favorites, Gavin Degraw’s _Soldier_. Let’s get you dressed and those lovely curls of yours long and loose. Hurry now, no time for shyness!” Louise chided with a grin.

\-----------------------------------------

John watched with great interest as Sherlock took out his phone and readied it to record Rose’s first number. “What’re you doing?”

“Mycroft wanted me to record some of the competition because Rose forbid him from coming. He’s very…parenty lately,” Sherlock said, lacking a better term to describe Mycroft’s sudden want of competition footage. “Not that he has massive amounts of free time as it is.”

Sherlock began recording as the couples took to the floor but once he caught sight of Rose’s slinky little outfit he hastily shut it off, garnering another questioning look from John. “Well I’m not trying to give Mycroft a heart attack John. As amusing as that might be, Rose wouldn’t appreciate it very much. I’ll wait for a safer dance.”

\-------------------------------------------

The rumba went off without a hitch, earning Rose and Alfred a perfect thirty out of thirty, allowing them to easily move forward. There was enough time between rounds this early on that there wasn’t massive rush to do costume changes and for Rose to hastily down four ibuprofen. There hadn’t been a lot of lifts and twists to bother her ribs but the movements had made her ache all the same. Perhaps it hadn’t been the best choice to give her body last night off, but there was no going back now.

Dragging Louise off to the loo, Rose bit her lip hard to hold back her winces as she was carefully wrapped up. “I don’t know if this is going to work with your jive Rose. Can you breathe alright?” Louise asked worriedly. “You look amazing, but all those tricks you have in there and the sharpness. You _have_ to be able to breathe properly. Is it too tight?”

Rose shook her head. “It’s supportive but I can breathe well, or at least as well as anyone with this--” she waved her hand at her left side. “Is able to. Whether you wrap me or not this might be the most difficult dance.”

“Well thank god it’s second then,” Louise muttered. She helped Rose into her dress, sliding the 50s inspired jive costumes over her head. “God you’re adorable. I wish I was built like you.”

“Oh hush, you’re lovely and tall and have gorgeous hair. You could give Ann Miller a run for her money in her hay days with your tapping skills,” Rose remarked.

Louise blushed, pleased with the comparison to one of Hollywood’s great musical leads. “Says the tiny Rita Hayworth.” They hurried back to the dressing room to complete Rose’s look, a long pony tail just a bit off-centered with delicate pink eye shadow and a hint of blush to her cheeks.

The minutes between sessions ended faster than it seemed possible, calling her and Alfred’s number, 27, out to the floor for a rollicking jive to Maroon 5’s _Lucky Strike._ Their routinefull of kicks, flips, even cartwheels as Rose and Alfred owned the floor. She forced herself to keep a smile on her face despite the pain and shortness of breath from the fast moving number, inwardly knowing her dancing wasn’t quite as sharp. The drop to a twenty-five out of thirty wasn’t surprising, but at least it had been a number that Sherlock felt safe sending to Mycroft.

\-------------------------------------------------

“You’re smiling sir,” Anthea commented as she entered Mycroft’s office with the latest report from MI-5. It wasn’t often she saw him smile, or at least give one that was full and genuine. When Mycroft waved her over, Anthea looked at the mobile in his hands as he restarted the video of Rose’s jive. She was far more intrigued by Mycroft than the video, though Rose demonstrated considerable skill even in comparison to those around her. Rarely did Anthea see the sort of look now present on her boss’s face, full of pride, clearly chuffed at his sister’s skills and could sense how much he wished to be there.

“Stop smiling Anthea,” Mycroft scolded when he caught her looking at him.

\---------------------------------------------------

While the jive had not been their best, and Rose had been forced to fight off Louise and Alfred’s efforts to get her withdraw following it, things looked up with the cha cha to Michael Buble’s _Dance With Me_. The short respite between the routines allowed Rose to recover from her shortness of breath, and briefly hide in the loo icing her side, before heading out onto the floor. Scoring 29 for the cha cha they were among the leading couples with 84 out of 90 points. The true test was coming as the final three dances were the most difficult and intricate: the paso doble, samba and tango.

“I’m really nervous Rose. Are you sure you should get all wrapped up again? It didn’t do you any favors in the jive,” Louise pointed out, trying one last time to talk her best friend out of the competition.

“I love you Louise, but you need to let me do this. I’ll live with the consequences if this goes horribly wrong, but for today I need to suck it up and power through. Please, please help me,” Rose begged. She let out a sigh of relief when Louise grudgingly agreed, wrapping her up to give her ribs some support before helping Rose into her paso doble outfit.

Unlike most dancers who chose tight fitting dresses at the top with billowing skirts and layers of ruffles for the paso, Rose had to be a bit more creative. Typical dress choices weren’t an option for her height, drowning her in ruffles. Instead she had chosen a black dress with a wide skirt and a single ruffle layer at the hem and fluttery sleeves. Though black on top, the underside of the skirt featured bright red roses, adding the drama that more ruffles would have provided. With her hair eloquently coiffed, her make-up smoky and sultry, Rose stood out from the smaller number of couples for all the right reasons.

As Marina and the Diamonds _Power and Control_ played Alfred and Rose claimed the dance floor. Their dance was aggressive and fast paced, featuring traditional arm movements and clean lines with powerful spins. Exemplifying the pursuit, spurning, and ultimate conquering of the ‘bull’- Rose- by the ‘matador’-Alfred- the choreography mixed the right amount of seductive movements on Rose’s part with the matching of aggression in each spin, and finally the ‘conquering’ as Alfred spun her onto the floor, jumped in the air and came down on his knees just inches above Rose’s body.

As Rose had lain on the dance floor for those few seconds before Alfred jumped and ‘caught’ her essentially underneath him, she held her breath, hoping and praying that he would land properly and not injure her further. Her trust in him was not misplaced as he executed his final movements perfectly without coming close enough to her body to even graze her, let alone hurt her.

The crowd went wild, though whether it was all for Rose and Alfred was difficult to tell. John and Sherlock easily made their own cheering section with vigorous clapping and calls for an encore in Sherlock’s rich baritone, despite the fact that encores were not part of the program. John was blown away by the power of the dance and its sexual allure, its rich details both stunning and slightly alarming. Alarming because he had found himself utterly entranced and unable to even look at the other couples or think about anything besides Rose.

The perfect score their paso doble earned gave them a four point lead over the other three remaining couples as the final two dances loomed near. A twenty minute break was called, allowing time for changing from paso costumes to samba costumes and if John was alarmed by how attracted he was to Rose during that dance, he didn’t stand a chance with the samba.

Arriving on the floor in her yellow bikini style top and short ruffled matching skirt, Rose’s legs looked miles long. As Jason Derulo’s _Talk Dirty_ began to play, Sherlock frowned in response to the song selection. “This is not music, this… is definitely not a dance to film for Mycroft,” he quickly decided, pocketing his mobile.

John’s jaw dropped as Rose began dancing, watching her transform from a young lady to a _woman_ right before his eyes in the most startlingly erotic dance he’d ever seen in his life. Rose had perfectly choreographed with the music, hitting the beats perfectly amid circling Alfred in an almost predatory manner, pressing herself bodily against him and it only got hotter from there.

The choreography included all the traditional elements one would find in a samba, which was a racier dance to begin with, but Rose had amped it up big time. Each twist, turn, and shake of her hips seemed to exude sex appeal without ever tipping into vulgarity. It was a markedly sophisticated style compared to the safer and slightly tamer choreography of the other couples. Rose had made a gamble and hoped it would pay off.

Out of the corner of his eye Sherlock could see John watching his sister with a… well, not precisely lascivious look but it was certainly one that indicated massive sexual attraction and he was decidedly uncomfortable with it. “John, stop looking at my sister like that,” he hissed.

Startled by Sherlock’s words, John looked over at his friend, his face going completely red. “Oh god, Sherlock, I--”

“We are not talking about it,” Sherlock interrupted. “Just _stop_.” He could handle them being in love with one another, should they stop being idiots long enough to figure out that they _were_ in love, but he would not tolerate John looking at her with such lustful gazes while sitting right next to him!

“JOHN! I said stop!” Sherlock repeated. “Don’t make me photograph you drooling over her and send it to Mycroft.” It seemed, unfortunately, that John- and just about every other hot blooded male in attendance- was unable to tear their eyes from Rose Holmes, much to her big brother’s chagrin. Thankfully the dance was only about ninety seconds long!

“Everyone, please congratulate our two final couples, number 27 and number 12! They will be returning for the final round of the competition in twenty minutes, after which one of them will be named the winner,” the announcer told the crowd.

The final dance was the tango, the one that had broken her rib, or ribs for all Rose knew. She was terrified, exhilarated, and incredibly proud of how well she and Alfred had done. “We’re going to win. We’ve got a two point lead on twelve, Alfred. This is ours. I trust you, it’ll be perfect,” Rose encouraged her nervous partner. “ _Take Me on the Floor_ is ours and we will own this floor. You hear me?”

Alfred was more than a little petrified, but tried to take heart at Rose’s words. He could not, _would not_ drop her this time. It would be perfect.

\------------------------------------------

There was little comparison between the final two couples. Rose’s choreography was once again more daring and sophisticated and Sherlock was on the edge of his seat as he watched their routine. He’d been involved heavily in this one, helping Alfred with the lifts and spins with Rose in his arms, and especially that very last movement, where Alfred turned Rose over his arm twice and then let her glide to the floor. When that part of the choreography came close, he held his breath, willing Alfred to do it and not drop his sister.

One turn… two… and Rose glided easily to the floor at Alfred’s feet. “YES!” Sherlock roared before the music even ended. He may have been the first out of his seat clapping but soon the entire crowd gave the couples a standing ovation, the sound of their clapping almost deafening.

Both couple stayed on the dance floor to await the final decision by the judges, who were huddled and whispering together at their table. The wait seemed endless but Rose felt such a sense of accomplishment and pride that it almost didn’t matter. “We did it,” she whispered. “Whatever happens Alfred, we were awesome. You were awesome.”

Alfred beamed and hugged Rose gently, mindful of her injuries, and held onto her possessively as they waited for the final scores.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer began to speak. “The scores are in and we have our winning couple… Alfred Mellor and Rose Holmes, couple 27!”

Rose screamed and turned in Alfred’s arms practically jumping into his arms in her excitement. “We did it, we did it!” she squealed, kissing his cheek. After her momentarily display of delight she and Alfred turned to the runners up and extended their hands.

“Well done and well fought. You were stiff competition all day,” Alfred said sincerely. “Very close call.” The couples shook hands and the runners up then left the floor as Rose and Alfred were given their title and trophy. Rose accepted the items and shook hands with the judges before fist pumping, bringing another round of applause.

As soon as Rose was able to leave the floor, she hurried into the dressing room to let Louise unwrap her bindings and retrieve her mobile.

In Whitehall, Mycroft was heading into a session of parliament when his mobile vibrated. Answering the call he was greeted by enthusiastic screaming on the other end and held the mobile away from his ear for a moment.

“We won! We won!” Rose exclaimed, her voice finally lowering to a more reasonable register of excitement. “We did it My, we won! I’m a title holder!”

Mycroft quickly moved off to an alcove, unwilling to let his guard down among a crowd. “I’m so proud of you poppet,” he murmured, giving in to the urge to smile. “More than I can even say. Well done, Rose.”

Rose beamed at her mobile, despite the fact that he couldn’t see it. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “For believing in me and just everything!”

“I’d love to talk longer but I have to go into parliament in just a moment. May I take you to dinner tonight to celebrate?” Mycroft asked. “You and Alfred and whomever else you’d like.”

“I would love to say yes to you but I am so utterly exhausted I could sleep like a week. I’d be rubbish company tonight. Tomorrow night instead? If there aren’t any wars started or anything?” Rose asked hopefully.

“Tomorrow it is. I’ll call you later and work out the details. Congratulations Rose,” Mycroft told her. His heart was so full of pride he thought it might burst, not that his outward appearance would show that though!

“Love you My, talk soon!”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

Though everyone tried to convince her to go out for a celebration, Rose was forced to turn them all down. She was in a lot of pain and it took every ounce of her concentration to keep from showing that. Louise was right, she really would need to go in and see someone. Tomorrow right after work, Rose told herself. There were loads of doctors in London, one did not have to see John or go to his surgery to find treatment.

Settling for several large pizzas as celebration, the group returned to Baker Street for a night in. Since they all had to work the next day, Louise and Alfred left at 10pm and headed to their respective homes and Rose went back to her flat. She couldn’t remember the last time she was so physically exhausted and sank gratefully into a warm bath. While it wasn’t the lovely old claw foot tub at the Holmes townhouse, it was still the perfect size for a lovely, bubble filled soak and the warm water did wonders for all her aches and pains. “Just have to get through tomorrow,” Rose murmured. “Get through the day and then go see a GP and get some lovely pain medication.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------

Rose arrived at the Met the following morning, already well loaded up on ibuprofen and with her usual coffees in hand.

“Ah, the champion arrives! How does it feel to be a title holder?” Greg asked. He waited for her to set down the coffees before getting up and pulling her into a bit of a hug, feeling rather proud of his young assistant and friend.

“How’d you know?” Rose laughed softly, returning the hug.

Sally Donovan watched them from her desk, rolling her eyes when Greg hugged her. _So unprofessional_ , she thought. Really, what did Greg see in that girl? She really just did not understand it.

“Your brother told me. Sherlock was rather proud of you. Though admittedly I did text him to find out because _you_ didn’t answer my texts yesterday!” He gave her a mock scowl before releasing her.

“Sorry, I was practically dead to the world. I could have slept for a week, it’s a miracle I even heard my alarm this morning,” Rose admitted. She still felt, and even looked, tired, but that was only to be expected after the ups and downs of the previous day. Competitions and recitals had always worn her out.

“You up to working today? You could take the day if you need it,” Greg offered. “You’ll be little use to me if you’re too tired to work.” He gave a wink to soften what might have sounded like a dismissal to someone unaware of his teasing nature.

Rose shook her head. “No, I’m fine, but thank you! I’ll just get started. Enjoy your silly macchiato.” With a smile she exited Greg’s office and made for her desk.

Suddenly Sally remembered what it was she forgot the night before. The janitor and the chair! “Wait! Wait don’t--”

Her warning came too late. Just as Sally called for her to wait, Rose put her full weight on the seat. The wheel, loosened much too far, separated from the chair itself, sending both itself and Rose crashing to the floor. Falling on her already injured left side, she let out a cry of pain before everything went black.

Greg hurried out from his office, just as Rose cried out and lost consciousness. He knelt down beside Rose and tried to gently rouse her while most of the other personnel on the floor were rather dumbstruck. “Oi! Somebody either find me a car or call an ambulance, not stand around like a bunch of idiots!” he called out.

Uncertain if he should move her or attempt to check her for injuries, Greg was very relieved when Rose’s eyes fluttered open and she let out a moan. “Rose, its Greg,” he said, calling her attention to him. He held up two fingers and asked, “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Two,” she said softly. “Hurts so bad, hurts to breathe.” Rose’s hand automatically went to her injured side.

“Your side? What’s wrong with your side?” Greg gently pressed against it with his hand, pulling it away quickly when Rose let out a wail.

“Broken rib,” she tried to explain while keeping her breathing shallow. “Broke Tuesday… Oh god, hurts so much more now.” There couldn’t be just one broken, not after a sudden fall with that side taking all her weight.

Greg’s mouth dropped open. “Tuesday? Tuesday? Rose, this is Friday! You competed yesterday with a broken rib?!” When she nodded, he let out a string of curses. “Your brothers are going to murder you, you realize that? John too for that matter.” He looked up again. “Someone call John Watson and tell him Rose is on her way to St. Bart’s.”

“No, no, no, no,” Rose repeated. “I’m fine, it’s fine, and we don’t have to tell anyone. Just get me in, don’t tell John!” This was quickly spiraling into a nightmare that was far worse than the pain she was presently experiencing.

“Oh yes we _do_ have to tell them!” Greg countered. “And what’s more, you’re going to deserve everything you get! This was bloody stupid Rose. If you were _my_ kid, I’d--”

DI Dimmock came up beside them, interrupting Greg before he could finishing telling Rose exactly what he would do. “There’s a car waiting out front for you.”

“Alright, I’m going to carry you out to the car and take you to St. Bart’s until someone can come be with you,” Greg told Rose. “Hold tight, I’ll be as gentle as I can.” He put one arm under her legs and the other under her arms, slowly lifting her from the floor. As he passed Sally, who, to her credit, looked rather shocked and remorseful, Greg gave her a hard look. “You are in serious trouble and I’ll deal with you later!” He promised.

With the assistance of a few other officers he got her into the lift, down to the main floor and out the front doors towards the car.

\------------------------------------------

Mycroft was in the midst of a meeting when his mobile vibrated. Discreetly removing it from his pocket he read the text from Anthea and mentally let out a groan. Immediately he sent out a text message to Lestrade, wondering just what Rose had done this time.

‘Detective-Inspector, please explain to me why my sister is in a police vehicle with lights and sirens blaring. M’

\--------------------------------------------

The jostling of being carried to the car had been excruciating and Rose nearly passed out again while holding tight to Greg as he carried her through the Met. The ride to St. Bart’s was little better, though it was thankfully very short thanks to the assistance of the lights and sirens and unusually cooperative London traffic. Just as Greg parked the car his mobile beeped, notifying him of a text message. “How much you want to bet that’s Mycroft asking why the hell you’re in a police car?” he asked with a sigh. He didn’t have time for Mycroft just yet, choosing to forego a response until Rose was settled into a room.

“I have no doubt that is in fact Mycroft,” Rose murmured as he carried her from the car. She couldn’t think about how much trouble she would be in just then, the pain and the need to breathe taking precedence. Though she was more than a little impressed, and slightly alarmed, that Mycroft had so quickly discovered what she was doing. Surprisingly enough, Mycroft wasn’t the person she least wanted to face.

Ten minutes later Rose was settled into a room with a nurse and a doctor while Greg waited outside. He didn’t feel quite right leaving her alone, but he definitely wasn’t staying in the room while she spoke with the doctor.

“You say this pain has been going on for some time?” the doctor asked as he examined her side. The mass of bruises on her left side worried him. “There are many old bruises here and newer ones as well. You’re practically a patchwork of bruising over here and I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find broken ribs.” Dr. Coburn sighed heavily, forced to move on to an uncomfortable part of his treatment of the patient. “Is everything alright at home? Do you feel safe there? Is someone hurting you physically or emotionally?”

Rose laid there for a moment, staring at him rather blankly. “Why are you ask---ooooh,” she murmured as it dawned on her. “I’m a professional dancer and just won a competition yesterday. I’ve been practicing for weeks and my partner isn’t always brilliant when it comes to lifts and he’s dropped me a lot. I’m pretty sure something broke Tuesday night and then I fell out of my chair at work this morning.”

It sounded a little fantastical, but when Rose offered to give him the name of her studio, Dr. Coburn felt a little better about it.

\-----------------------------------------------

Still in his lab coat from surgery, John hurried into the emergency room, anxiously looking for Rose. Dimmock had called him and had very little to say other than Rose had been hurt pretty badly and was being taken to St. Bart’s, leaving John to wander how hurt was hurt. Considering Rose’s history, the realm of possibilities was endless. He immediately left surgery, sadly not a surprise to poor Sarah who was used to Sherlock-related emergencies, and headed for St. Bart’s.

When he arrived and spotted he hurried over to the other man, giving him a questioning look.

“She’s with a doctor now,”

“So probably not dying?” John asked, just to be certain.

Greg shook his head, smiling when John let out a sigh of relief and stood beside him, waiting for a chance to go in and see Rose. They stood in silence, allowing for part of the conversation beyond the curtain to drift out.

“You’ve been quite rough on yourself,” they heard Dr. Coburn say. “We’ll have to get you in for x-rays. In the meantime, the nurse will get some pain medication started. Have you been taking anything recently?”

“A lot of ibuprofen,” Rose admitted. “Four pills every five or six hours for… well… a few weeks.” She blushed a bit, half expecting the doctor to ring a peal over her head, but then again, this was a random physician not John.

“Yes, broken ribs can be quite painful, even bruised ones,” Dr. Coburn sympathized. He gave the nurse an order to start her on some pain medication through IV.

John frowned, repeating the dosage for a moment before it sank in. Before Greg could say a word, John pulled back the curtain and entered the room, ready to take Rose to task for taking so many pills, something they had talked about before. As he opened his mouth to tell her off, he caught sight of her side, mottled with bruises, and all words about ibuprofen misuse died on his tongue.

“Sir!” Dr. Coburn called out. “Who are you and why are you intruding on this patient’s privacy?”

“I’m her doctor,” John said firmly in his best Captain tone. “And I need a few minutes with my patient.”

It was slightly unusual to have one’s own doctor show up when a patient was with another doctor, but Coburn wasn’t going to argue with the man. Something about him said that any arguments would fall on deaf ears and, providing his patient wasn’t threatened by her personal physician, Coburn saw no reason not to quickly vacate.

“John, there’s no reason to get upset,” Rose said very carefully, watching him with wide eyes. “Honestly John… Dancer, pain management, not a big deal.”

John came to stand beside her bed, looking closely at the bruises. When Rose tried to pull her shirt back down over them, he looked at her, an eyebrow cocked. “I am trying to examine you and do not appreciate you interfering with that. Leave it up so I can look.” He didn’t wait to see if she obeyed, he merely held the shirt up, ghosting his fingers across the bruises. They were obviously in various stages of healing and he was willing to bet they were deep bruises from constantly repeating whatever had caused them in the first place.

“These are weeks old Rose, _weeks_ old,” John ground out through gritted teeth. “Is this from practice? From Alfred dropping you? _ANSWER ME!_ ”

Outside the curtained off room, even Greg flinched a bit at John’s tone.

The color drained from her face and she bit her lip for several long seconds before responding. “Yes, it’s from practice, from Alfred dropping me. He wasn’t doing it on purpose!” Rose hurried to remind him. “It was my choreography; I made it hard and wouldn’t compromise.”

“Oh, your lack of compromising is very evident. Don’t comprise the dance; I’ll just compromise my health instead! How long have you been injured? These had to have hurt and there’s no way you could be dropped with this much consistency without causing yourself injury eventually,” John pointed out.

Rose cringed. “Bruising has been going on for a while, but bruising my ribs a few weeks. Maybe three? Two or three. It was not my fault I fell over today! Someone tampered with my chair.”

John closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and took a few deep breaths. He counted mentally counted to ten very slowly and then opened his eyes. “Rose, you can do serious damage with repeated impacting like that. Very serious damage. Bruising like this isn’t normal and should have been a sign that you needed to slow down and adjust so that you didn’t hurt yourself. Now I heard that other doctor mention broken ribs. Was that today? Did you break your ribs this morning at the Met? Which how that’s even possible I have no idea,” he admitted.

Rose looked down at her hands for a moment. This was not going to go well for her and there was no one to rescue her. John was going to be furious and she would have no real defense to offer him for her actions. She was sunk. Game over. “I think I broke more this morning,” she said slowly. “But I’m pretty sure I broke at least one on Tuesday night during practice. There were icky cracking noises and I blacked out.”

“Let me get this straight. You were _pretty sure_ you broke a rib, sought absolutely no medical attention whatsoever, and _competed_ yesterday?” John repeated, wanting to make sure he had it precisely right before he wrung her stubborn neck. “ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR BLOODY MIND?!” John thundered. “How did you even manage that? You know what, no; I don’t even care how you managed it. You are completely and utterly insane and I am… I am… _flabbergasted_ by your stupidity Rose. Do you want another surgery on a lung? Do you? Because broken ribs can puncture lungs. Did you even know that?”

“I was going to go see someone today after work, I swear!” Despite having no real defense to offer, Rose would try just the same. “John, please, please don’t yell at me. I wasn’t trying to kill myself or something and I was going to get medical treatment today.”

“TODAY is three days too damn late Rose!” John shouted. “And I will not stop yelling at you! You live next door to your own doctor! Why didn’t you come to me weeks ago when you started bruising so badly? Why do you have to be so damn stubborn?”

As the two argued behind the curtains, their voices getting louder and louder, they were starting to draw the attention of St. Bart’s security officers. Not to mention making Greg feel uncomfortably in the middle of it all, especially when he had to flash his badge to keep security and other hospital personnel away from the noisy room.

Rose scowled darkly, refusing to let his shouting unnerve her; at least not without shouting back. “Because I didn’t want your hands all over me! You rejected me and then you expect me to come to you for medical treatment so I can feel your hands on my body and make my heart ache even more? There’s only so much a girl can stand John and that was not something I could make myself do! Besides, you can find anything out on the internet for heaven sakes!”

“YOU LIVE IN A CITY WITH THOUSANDS OF DOCTORS AND YOU GOOGLED AT HOME MEDICAL CARE?!” John was absolutely livid now. He leaned over her ominously, a hand on each side of her head, his face mere inches from hers. “When you’re done healing, I am personally going to make sure that you don’t sit for an entire month and I don’t give a damn what your brothers have to say about the matter. I am so _fucking_ angry with you,” he growled. “You are worse than your brothers combined!”

Rose had met his threats with a jaw locked in determination, her eyes full of unspoken challenge. But when he compared her to her brothers, well, that was a whole other matter. “That is not even true!”

“Oh, it is, it is!” John assured her in a raised tone. He stood up straight, hands on his hips, in full on Captain mode. “What is it going to take Rose? What is it going to take to get you to care and be _careful_ with yourself? If not for yourself, then at least for me! You are the most insane, maddening and ridiculous person I’ve ever met in my whole life and I _live_ with your _brother_!”

She shook her head and raised her chin defiantly. “John that’s not even fair! You don’t understand! I’ve tried to explain--”

Unwilling to listen to any more excuses, John cut her off, opening his mouth to continue his blistering scolding and somehow something else entirely came out. “Maybe I _should_ be in a relationship with you! If ever there was a woman in the entire world who needs a lead off the bloody dance floor it is _you._ And by god I am more than up for the challenge because _I love you_!”

Her heart soaring at his words, Rose tried to compose her scattered thoughts to respond but it turned out that a verbal response was no longer necessary. John leaned down and captured her lips with his own in a punishing kiss, anger fueling passion, making Rose’s mind reel. Her arms went around his neck, pulling him closer to her while John held her carefully in his arms.

\----------------------------------------------

Things were suddenly far too quiet for Greg’s comfort and he debated for a few seconds about whether or not he should enter the room. In all likelihood John was strangling Rose, and who could blame the poor man, but Greg couldn’t allow that to happen. Stepping in past the curtain, his jaw dropped at the sight before him.

Their arms wrapped around each other, John and Rose hungrily kissed one another, taking absolutely no notice of anything around them, let alone the detective-inspector. “….I have definitely missed something,” he muttered before turning and exiting the room. Greg shook his head and proceeded to grin. He couldn’t think of two better people for one another than those two, each answering a need of the other.

“Lestrade!”

Greg looked up at the sound of his name to see Sherlock coming down the hallway towards him. _Oh god_ , he thought. _Sherlock will murder John._ “Hello Sherlock!” he called very loudly, hoping to warn the kissing couple.

Sherlock frowned slightly at him but didn’t chose to comment on the odd greeting, his mind far more preoccupied with his sister and what she might have done to herself now. He made to move past Lestrade, only to have Greg lay a hand on his arm.

“Don’t go in there,” the older man warned.

The younger man’s bright eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Just not a good idea.” He gave Sherlock an imploring look, hoping for once Sherlock would listen to him.

When Greg offered no further insight as to why Sherlock would refrain from checking on his sister, Sherlock pulled back the curtains, opening them wide to reveal John and Rose, still locked in a heated embrace.

For a moment Sherlock simply stared at him, as if processing and deducing the sight before him entirely before being capable of responding to it. When he did, it was not what Greg expected to hear.

“Finally,” Sherlock said, letting out a sigh.

Greg looked at him with wide eyes. Finally? Finally? That couldn’t possibly be what he said! “Come again?”

“Finally,” Sherlock repeated. “Now they can stop all the ridiculous _looking_ they’ve been doing. I never knew how annoying it could be and they’ve been at it for the past two weeks!”

“Looking?” Greg repeated.

“No, no, don’t be an idiot Gavin.Not looking; _looking_.”

The other man sighed heavily. “It’s Greg.”

Suddenly the couple broke apart, with Rose almost gasping for air, a hand going to her injured side. “Ow, ow, ow, ow.”

“I’ll ow, ow, ow you when you’re better,” John threatened. “And don’t think I’m not serious. You are in a whole world of trouble and if your ribs _are_ broken, I’ll have six whole weeks to decide what to do with that cute, stubborn little arse of yours!”

Rose’s face flushed red, feeling embarrassed by his description of her bum as ‘cute.’ She huffed at the thought of him spanking her though, especially if they were actually going to be in a relationship now.

“Hey, you can’t tell me you don’t think you deserve it. Can you?” John asked, tipping her chin up so he could look into her eyes.

With a sigh Rose whispered a “No.” She had known that was likely to be the outcome from the moment she really was hurt Tuesday night. Just then she realized that Sherlock and Greg were in the room. “Oh dear god,” she moaned. “I am going to die of sheer humiliation.”

John whirled around to face his best friend, surprised that he hadn’t been shot with his own gun already. “Sherlock, I--”

“I am more relieved than I can say that you both will stop looking longingly and stupidly at one another,” Sherlock began. “I pose no real objection to this relationship, provided my sister is always treated with the utmost respect and her heart is not broken.”

“You don’t? You don’t object? Seriously?!” Rose almost shrieked. “All this wasted time because of the stupid code of honor nonsense! _John_!”

“How was I to know he’d be alright with it?” John shot back, giving her a frown before turning his attention back to Sherlock. “You’re serious? This… Rose and I… you’re alright with this?”

Sherlock sighed heavily, as if John was the biggest idiot on the entire planet. “John, if I trust you with my own life, why would I not trust you with hers? I cannot, however, promise that Mycroft will feel the same. In fact, I can guarantee that he won’t.”

Rose reached for John’s hand and squeezed it firmly. “We’ll work it out. He loves me. We’ll work it out somehow.” She could tell John wasn’t entirely convinced and was probably once again in fear of being castrated.

“What’s wrong with her?” Sherlock asked, noticing the pain meds. “What did you manage to do to yourself this time?”

John nudged her arm. “Show your brother,” he encouraged, waving Sherlock over.

When she lifted the side of her shirt, Sherlock winced at the sight of it and pinned Rose with a hard look. “If it isn’t one thing with you it’s another. I suppose it could be worse,” he sighed. “You always find a way to create disasters, don’t you, Rosie?”

“I seem to remember _someone_ assisting me in many of those disasters. After all, who was the one that built a cannon with me and then left me alone with it when I was _seven_?” Rose asked. The siblings promptly engaged in a glaring contest with one another.

“You sure you want to get yourself further entangled with this lot, mate?” Greg asked John, a big goofy grin on his face. He didn’t understand any of the references to their shared childhood, other than there was nothing more amusing than the two younger Holmes siblings

John looked down at Rose, who turned her attention back to him when he touched her shoulder. The warmth in his eyes as he looked at her made Rose’s pulse leap and her heart almost seemed to lurch with sheer excitement. She could hardly believe that they had come to this point.

Quietly Sherlock and Greg slipped from the room, but neither John nor Rose seemed to notice it at all.

“Did you mean that?” Rose whispered, referring to the words he had said before kissing her half senseless. Her eyes searched his for an answer, for truthfulness.

John’s hand caressed her face gently and he nodded. “If you’ll still have me,” he whispered. “I must’ve been out of my mind thinking I could get over what I feel; make it go away.”

Rose nodded, her eyes glowing with sheer happiness. “My feelings haven’t changed. I’ve been waiting for you to change yours, this whole time.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” John chided her softly. “It hasn’t even been two months.” Though even he had to admit the time had dragged on slowly as he’d struggled, clearly in vain, to stop himself from becoming involved with her.

“Which has felt like forever,” she laughed softly. “But I think it’s been longer and I never even knew it, never saw it coming, until you kissed me at Christmas.”

John leaned down to kiss her once more, lightly and sweetly, in lieu of a response, his heart leaping in his chest as he did so.

At just that moment, Mycroft entered the hospital and headed towards her room, wondering what in the world his sister had been up to _this_ time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DEAR READERS: This is the final chapter of A Rose Blooms in Baker Street. But fear not! Rose will be back with brand new adventures (and disasters!) in a sequel that picks up right where this one leaves off. Look for "Petal by Petal Blossoms the Rose" coming very soon! Thank you to all my faithful readers and reviewers, your support has meant the world to me and I am truly blown away by how many people have enjoyed my Rose!
> 
> AND To see Rose’s dance choreography, go to youtube and search for:  
> Gilles and Cheryl paso doble  
> Chelsie Hightower samba  
> DWTS switch up Meryl and Val (tango!)


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